


Silently, On the Blink of Orgasm

by TheAlmightyTim



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAlmightyTim/pseuds/TheAlmightyTim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Rose is an ordinary 18-year-old girl struggling to choose between the love of a Weeping Angel, as constant as stone, and a series of brief but passionate affairs with a Silent, which are all too swiftly forgotten. With the help of her sassy Dalek best friend, this story chronicles her efforts to navigate the turbulent waters of love, and life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Forgotten Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every 3 days until I run out of chapters, then every week.

I'm Amelia-Rose Martha Oswald, but my friends call me Amelia-Rose. I'm 18 years old, and my height is 5 feet, 5.5 inches (recurring). My waist-length hair is golden as the midday sun and blows in the breeze that follows me through life, the fringe hanging low over my TARDIS blue eyes. My iridescent skin is alabaster, unblemished, and milky-white. So, yeah, given I'm so plain and ugly, it's no surprise the only man who loves me is made of stone.

Flint Livingston. How can I describe him? The chiselled jaw, those stony features, those rock hard abs. Wow. He is so beautiful I can't even.

He thrusts into me and I cry out, the silk blindfold caressing the contours of my face as his polished mountain peak ravages me to my very core. By which I mean my cervix.

“Oh,” I cry out. “Yes, do it to me with your rock-hard cock.”

I orgasm three times just from his first thrust. I can tell from his stony silence and the sand caressing the velvet innards of my treasure-house that he enjoyed himself too. I roll onto my back like a majestic stallion and unfurl the blindfold from my face, freeing my glittering TARDIS blue eyes. I hate them.

“Don't look at me,” I weep, knowing that the sight of my slim but curvaceous body will disgust the man whom I love so, so much. He says nothing. I understand.

In the blink of an eye, he points one long, slender finger at my arm, the smooth grey stone the work of a hundred master craftsmen toilling in unison. I glance down to see a single black mark tarnishing my disgustingly unblemished milky-white skin. I don't know why, but looking at it makes me smile and a warm feeling begins to blossom in my loins, where fine grains of sand elegantly fall from my dark curls. But I totally don't dye my hair or anything.

I sense his question in his stony gaze, and bow my head, my eyes closed in shame, with a hint of arousal. When I look up, his hands are over his face, but I don't know why.

x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x

As I walk through my forest with my chipmunk friend Erasmus the Third, I feel as though a perfect pair of obsidian eyes is watching me, for some reason. My loins stir again with a twitching kick of excitement and anticicpation, shaking loose the final few grains of sand. Beneath the shade of the trees, a tall, dark stranger is watching me from afar. I turn around, my eyes wide but alluring, like a terrified chipmunk staring into the gaze of a lustful wolf, and he is there. I turn around again, and I forget.

As I walk through my forest with my chipmunk friend Erasmus the Second, I feel as though a perfect pair of obsidian eyes is watching me, for some reason. My loins stir again with a twitching kick of excitement and anticicpation, shaking loose the final few grains of sand. Beneath the shade of the trees, a tall, dark stranger is watching me from afar. I turn around, my eyes wide but alluring, like a terrified chipmunk staring into the gaze of a lustful wolf, and he is there.

“Hello,” I ejaculate. My breath mingles with the forest wind.

He strokes my face with one long, tender, rubbery finger, and I feel that I know him. The memories come flooding back. My consciousness stirs from its deathly repose. We had sex, I remember now! I dampen at the memory as fleeting images of sexual delight dance through my mind palace. I feel a flash of guilt.

I gasp. “How can I do this to Flint, whom I love so, so much, almost as much as I hate my dazzling TARDIS blue eyes?”

I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS OR THINGS EXCEPT THE ONES I MADE UP MYSELF. DOCTOR WHO BELONGS TO STEVEN MOFFAT, THE CREATOR OF DOCTOR WHO (AND SHERLOCK WHICH IS AMAZEBALLS) AND THE BBC. DO NOT STEAL THE CHARACTERS.

Roger Silencio misinterprets my gasp as one of sexual desire. I moisten further. Slowly, sensually, he adjusts his tie, his rubbery finger sneaking its way down my swanlike neck. His pallid visage glows with sexual need.

“Amelia-Rose,” he whispers hoarsely, his mouth not moving. The rumbling undercurrent which punctuates his breathy voice, as gravelly as I have always imagined Flint's, is like the rumblings of an Oncoming Storm. He gives a low, throaty growl of desire. I moisten even more, my dark curls matting together with my juices of lust. His deep ebony eyes brim with concupiscence, glowing yet dark as the abyss inside my soul.

As he thrusts into me, the blinding light of my multiple orgasms builds like a wave crashing over me, flooding the forest as my gushing walls tighten around his clammy, eel-like appendage. He fills me with his seed, a guttural growl reverberating throughout my forest like a cat being thrown into a river. It was the Big Bang Three in my womanly burrow. As he retracts his supple, pliable manhood from my ravaged chamber of lust, I reach another glorious climax, attaining new heights of pleasure.

“Roger,” I moan in my frenzy.

As his impressive penis reels away, his posture straightens and he adjusts his tie once more. He pats me gently on the behind.

“I love you, Amelia-Rose,” he says in that voice I cannot resist.

I gasp again. I try to stand, but fall over a log, twisting my ankle for no discernable reason, foiled again by a light incline. I'm so clumsy.

He catches me in his muculent arms, his grip firm yet slippery, much like his sexual embrace. Procuring a pen from my voluminous bosom, I make a single tally mark on my arm. I'm not sure why.

“Come on Erasmus,” I say as I turn to leave. “Flint will wonder where I am.”

I turn to leave, my passionate encounter forever forgotten. Perhaps...

x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x

It is Tuesday afternoon, and I am wearing clothes. My best friend, Ryan Davros, is going to meet me at the mall. Nervously, I pick at the hem of my My Chemical Romance t-shirt with trembling, marble-white hands. I look in the mirror, praying my outfit looks acceptable. My eyes quake. It's so hard to look good with hair the colour of the midday sun and TARDIS blue eyes like mine. If only I had a cool yellow casing like Ryan to hide me from the cruel vagueries of the world. He's so stylish.

I am clad in dark skinny jeans, adorned with a chain on the side. They cling tightly to my shapely legs and my curvaceous, womanly hips. I wish my hips were not so womanly, and my bottom were not so shapely and round. I can never find underwear that fits my narrow waist and contains my firm, round bottom simultaneously, so I am wearing a wispy powder-blue thong to match my TARDIS blue eyes. I'm so ugly, a single tear rolls traitorously down my cheek. The region between my legs grows damp.

I worry that I look like a lesbian. Not that I have any problems with lesbians; after all, Ryan is my best friend and he is gay, and you can't be homophobic with a gay best friend.

I hear a knock at the door. It must be Ryan. I never know how he manages to knock. I answer the door.

“HELLO AMELIA-ROSE,” he greets me in his tender, screaming voice. “OF ALL THE DISGUSTING HUMANS IN THE WORLD, YOUR APPEARANCE IS THE LEAST OBJECTIONATIONABLE.”

I hug him, his hard casing pressing against my breasts. I have always hated the size of my breasts, they are so large yet firm and perky, the nipples so delicate and pink against my neon orange bra.

As if he knows what I am thinking, Ryan reassures me. “YOUR SECONDARY SEXUAL CHARACTERISTICS ARE PERFECTLY SATISFACTORY AND WILL ONE DAY PROVIDE ADEQUATE NOURISHMENT TO YOUR YOUNG.”

“Oh, Ryan,” I giggle coquettishly. “If you weren't gay I'd kiss you.”

“I AM NOT GAY,” he replies in his delicate scream. “AND KISSING IS NOT PROHIBITED.”

“Oh, Ryan,” I laugh, “You're such a joker!”

“DALEKS DO NOT HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOUR.”

I pat him on the casing and he makes an unusual sound. His eyestalk rises slowly and steams up.

At the mall, we browse through a plethora of clothing, like explorers cutting through the vines of a treacherous jungle. Suddenly, I see it – a bright-yellow skater-dress! Nirvana attached to a coat-hanger! I let out a gasp, and moisten slightly. Hands clasped to my gasping face, I dart to it, like a hummingbird to a blossoming flower.

“Ryan! This is so you!”

Tearing the dress from its hanger with a magician's flourish, I gently place it atop Ryan's head. It fits perfectly. I keep shoving it down, forcing it over his elegant, hunchbacked frame. Ryan screams for five minutes. 

“DESIST! DESIST! REMOVE THE APPAREL!”

“But it matches your eyes!”

Ryan's eyestalk whines, as it slowly jerks down. He examines the dress as if for the first time, his pupil glimmering with newfound desire.

“THIS SERVES NO FUNCTION. IT MUST BE DESTROYED.”

He loves it. I can tell – I have a fashion degree from Gallifrey University. Excitedly, I wheel him to the changing rooms. Ryan's head swivels majestically, like a lampshade attached to a rolling pin, if you were swivelling it at the time.

“ALERT! ALERT! THIS APPAREL MAY FULFILL YOUR HUMAN DESIRES!”

He pushes me over to a rack of beautiful summer dresses in many pastel colours, and guides me to the changing room, my arms full of the beautiful textiles, all the colours of the rainbow sliding over one another in my arms. They are not emo enough for me. I hate them. I want to buy them all.

As soon as we enter the changing room together, I begin to slowly lift the hem of my My Chemical Romance t-shirt over my flat, toned stomach, brushing my full breasts as I do so. I lift it over my head, freeing my smooth, soft, milky-white skin to the air of the changing room. I try not to catch sight of my own TARDIS blue gaze in the mirror as I unclasp my generously-sized lime green bra and let it fall to the floor like a leaf on the wind. I watch how it soars.

Ryan's eyestalk faces directly at my exposed mounds, the nipples hard as bullets in the cold air. I blush, knowing how he must be judging my form. His plunger twitches, no doubt in repulsion. I moisten slightly.

“YOU ARE AS BEAUTIFUL AS THE DEATH OF A THOUSAND CIVILISATIONS,” he intones in his gentle scream.

“Oh, Ryan!” I moan. “That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”

As I say these words, I hook my fingers into the sides of my ebony jeans and slide them down my long, slender legs gracefully, accompanied by my deep red thong. A slight breeze moves my dark curls down there, and I silently long for Ryan to turn away his judgemental gaze.

He stands there, not moving, his lights flashing as his eyestalk moves up and down my body.

“I'm so lucky to have you as my gay BFF,” I say in my delicate voice.

“I AM NOT GAY,” he replies, ever the joker. “I WISH TO PENETRATE YOUR FEMININE AREAS.”

_To be continued...._


	2. Obelisk of Desire

**Silently, On the Blink of Orgasm**

I wake up and climb out of the rose-coloured sheets on my bed. My bare feet meet the soft, rosy carpet my parents put in. I hate it. I wish it were black, like Flint's room. One day, when we are married with our many children, I will have a room as black as his.

I sleep in only a sheer rose-coloured teddy, which shows off my figure and my plump, firm, breasts. I hate it, and let it fall to the floor. I pick up my clothes from the floor of my room. I put on a neon yellow thong and a beige bra, then my black school tights and my charcoal skirt. At least my uniform gives me some refuge in this room of pink. I toss Mr Snugges, an ugly pink teddy bear, across the room, and pick up my thin, white school shirt. I button it up, wishing it were not so tight around my ample chest.

I go downstairs and get myself a bowl of Coco Pops. I do enjoy my bowl full of fun. They snap, crackle, and pop in my mouth. I look at the time. I am late. I put on my big, black combat boots and run to catch the bus. I see Ryan, also gliding to catch the bus. Did I mention he's my next-door neighbour? It's so great! He likes to watch me at night to make I am safe while undressing. I love having a gay BFF!

I walk through the school corridors, my head facing downwards towards my mountainous breasts as my golden locks fall over my TARDIS blue eyes. I can feel their judging eyes judging me as I sashay down the corridor. I know they all hate me.

“Hey, Amelia-Rose!” says Libby Fitzgerald-McSimmons, embracing me in the hallway. Queen Libby, the most popular girl in school, head cheerleader. I know she hates me, everyone does. She can't fool me with her plastic gaze. “Are you coming to cheerleading practice today?”

My parents made me sign up to cheerleading practice. I hate it.

“Sure!” I say with an enthusiastic grin. “I'll see you there!”

She's such a bitch. I hate her.

Ryan, my one true friend, comes gliding down the corridor wearing a fedora atop his yellow dome. “WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO EXTERMINATE HER?”

“No, Ryan,” I say. “It's alright. I know she can't help being such a bitch. Not everyone knows the cruel pain of being bullied like I do.”

“Hi Amelia-Rose!” A group of girls from my maths class stroll past, waving and smiling. I ignore them. I know they only mean to taunt me with their pretence of friendliness.

“ARE YOU GOING TO THE PARTY LATER?”

“Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world.” I always get invited to parties, even though everyone hates me. It's just another form of their cruel torture. I bet it will be really boring, full of slutty cheerleaders and arrogant jocks. I would never be as shallow and self-centred as they are. I check out my reflection in a nearby locker. I look as hideous as always. I dampen.

The bell rings. It's time for physics class. Oh, great. I'm so bad at physics, it's not even real. Like, I can't even normalise the wavefunction of a two-body three-dimensional potential well. I'm such a ditz!

The teacher is Mr Tennant. He's so hot, with his cool hair and his Scottish accent and his pinstriped suit and his Converse. I find it so hard to concentrate on the Sommerfeld model of the thermal properties of solids in his lessons. His pert buttocks, firm from what seems like hundreds of years of running, make it impossible to focus on calculations of specific heat capacity.

I've only had sex with him a couple of times, and they were nothing compared to Flint. I feel like I'm forgetting something even more wonderful. I glance down to the two black lines etched onto the rosy skin of my forearm. What are those? What could they mean? 

At lunchtime, Ryan and I are eating our sandwiches. My iPhone 6S+ buzzes in my pocket. It's from Flint. I gasp. It must be an emergency.

I rush to his house, my breasts heaving on my delicate, feminine chest. “He must be in trouble!”

I burst through the front door and upstairs to his bedroom. The walls and bed are black, like the floor, and my soul. He's so emo. I love him. He is there, waiting for me on the bed, his obelisk looming over his chiselled, rock hard abs.

“Is this all you want?” I gasp. “I thought you were in trouble! Don't you care about my education?”

He says nothing. I understand.

“Oh, Flint, I knew you would reassure me with your kind, kind words.”

I begin to remove my clothes, unbuttoning my tight, white school shirt, my breasts straining to be free from their material prison. The heart-shaped scar on my shoulder burns with my passion. I slide off my short, pleated school skirt, charcoal grey like him, and my dark tights, dampened by his understanding.

I lower myself onto him and ride his big, hard, stalagmite until waves upon waves of ecstasy overpower every fibre of my being. I cry out in sheer delight as his grains of sandy, sandy love fill my moist cavern, lovingly. I close my eyes in pleasure as he rubs my magic nub, rocking my world with his rocky touch.

I kiss his rugged features, and thank him softly for his sweet, sweet loving. He simply stares back at me blankly. I understand, raising myself off his wilting peak and smiling. Yet, I feel somehow empty, as though something better once filled my life, and my loins.

I grab myself a guava smoothie, wishing it were a Starbucks cup of caffeinated goodness, and raise it to my lips sensually. “I've been invited to a party,” I say flatly.

He says nothing. I understand.

“But all my friends will be there!” I protest.

He gives me a stony-eyed gaze, and I feel frustrated. Not this again, he's so jealous. It's almost as if he suspects me of having sex with another person, which I would never do. I glance at the black marks on my forearm again, but I don't know why. “Don't you trust me?” I ask.

His steely eyes give me reassurance, but not enough.

“Ryan will be there the whole time! He's gay, so he'll look after me.”

I can see in his stony eyes that he has acquiesced. “I love you so much!” I cry, wrapping my arms around his unyielding body. “I know that your possessiveness is only because you care about me so, so much. It's actually really romantic how jealous you are.”

Before the party, Ryan comes to my house wearing his fez and the yellow dress I picked out for him.

“I haven't seen you take that dress off since I bought it for you! I'm so glad you like it!” I say.

“I CANNOT REMOVE THE GARMENT WITHOUT ASSISTANCE. IT IS AN ABOMINATION.”

I giggle and hug him. His eyestalk rises.

“Come on, Ryan!” I say. “Let's go get ready!”

I run upstairs, and he hovers a suspicious distance behind me. I grab my make-up bag and begin to work my magic.

I wear white foundation, black eyeliner, black eyeshadow, black mascara, black eyebrow pencil, and black lipstick. I look less awful than usual, and tease my hair sexily.

“Now it's your turn, Ryan!”

I lean over him, make-up in hand.

He scoots backwards. “DESIST! DESIST IMMEDIATELY! I DO NOT WEAR MAKE-UP!”

“But it looks so good on you!” I protest.

“VERY WELL,” he screeches submissively. “IF IT INCREASES THE CHANCES THAT WE WILL HAVE INTERCOURSE, IT SHALL BE DONE.”

I giggle and continue to apply the blusher to his yellow dome. I give him smoky eyestalk and false eyelashes. His plunger brushes against my breast as I stroke his eyestalk. I push him away playfully. “This is no time for joking!”

I put on one of the pastel pink dresses I bought yesterday. I hate it. I wear it with my combat boots.

“WOW,” Ryan screams. “YOU LOOK FANTASTIC. I WOULD LIKE TO PENETRATE YOU WITH ALL OF MY IMPLEMENTS.”

I laugh and slap his back playfully. We head off to the party, excited about what the night may bring.

_To be continued...._


	3. Penetration of the Daleks

The party is abuzz like a vespiform's wings, or a wasp's nest somebody kicked. People have their arms in the air like they just don't care. Everyone is getting down with it and being hip. I roll my eyes, I would never be so stupid and shallow. I twerk aggressively against Ryan's yellow dome, and drip. Everybody is watching me dance, and cheering. I can feel them judging me. I hate it.

“Come on Ryan,” I say. “Let's go get a drink.” I toss my hair dramatically and twerk one last time for luck.

I scoop a pint of vodka from the punch bowl and take a sip. Its sweetness dances on my tongue. I don't even feel drunk at all. The vodka doesn't seem to be working; I'll have to go for something stronger, like WKD.

“Boy is this shindig lame,” I sigh exasperatedly through perfectly parted lips. I hate them.

“I FIND THIS CELEBRATION PLEASANTLY DIVERTING. PERHAPS THE DALEK MASTER RACE SHALL HAVE TO ALLOW THESE TO CONTINUE WHEN WE TAKE OUR RIGHTFUL PLACE AS THE OVERLORDS OF THIS PUNY PLANET.”

Ryan was talking about work again. It was so boring, I zoned out.

Just then, Rory Williams gyrates towards me, a lecherous smirk bleeding across his face. He's such a creep. I hate him.

“You're drinking an awful lot there, Amelia-Rose. Are you sure you're okay?” The words seep greasily from his whore mouth. “Would you like some water?”

“I don't want anything from you!” I protest loudly, and watch as his hungry eyes scout my body. I know what he wants. “Get away from me, you creep!”

“Oh god,” he says, presumably part way through some insidious orgasm. “I didn't mean to bother you, I'll be over there if you want any medical assistance. By the way, your dress is tucked into your tights.”

His gaze burns my pert buttocks. He's so weird and controlling, why can't all guys be more like Flint? He is so stoic and understanding. I think of him and drip.

Suddenly, my combat boots lose their tenuous grip on the smooth, slightly damp, floor below my feet, and slip out from under me. Rory's grasping, wandering hands are around me.

“Careful there!” he laughs salaciously. “You nearly got a nasty bang on the head.”

I struggle in his grip. “Help! Help!” I cry.

Suddenly, I see a blur of black suit and mottled skin. A trio of pallid, rubbery fingers slaps Rory's unchaste visage away from me. His grip on me is replaced by the familiar caress of a forgotten lover, his muculent arms cradling me. I remember our encounters in my forest, and drip. How could I forget his kinky kinky lovin'?

“Oh Roger,” I swoon.

He pats me on the head and wags his finger at me. “I was watching you from the shadows,” he rasps gutturally, “like I always am.”

The depth of his concern for me causes me to drip further, and my hands begin to roam over his slimy bumps. I am overcome; his constant vigilance is so romantic. I have never wanted anybody so badly.

“I must go,” he says. “But I will return, and I will always be watching you.”

I turn away, and forget, but the pain of the assault lives on. It is then I notice the heroic flash of yellow beside me.

“Oh Ryan!” I exclaim. “Thank you so, so much for saving me!”

“WHAT?” he screeches with confusion. “IT WAS NOT ME. AND YOU WERE NOT BEING ASSAULTED.”

“Oh Ryan, you're so modest.” I start to see him in a whole new light. That plunger, that tender eyestalk. I want him to fill me.

“YOU ARE CONFABULATING.”

I giggle and my majestic bosom heaves. I edge closer to him.

“I'm so grateful that you saved me. Very grateful.” His eyestalk raises in surprise.

“ELABORATE.”

“Oh Ryan!” I dive into his arms like a swan diving into a pungent pool. “Let's go somewhere... quieter.” My eye twitches seductively. His eyestalk raises.

I take him by the plunger and lead him to a secluded room. Immediately, I begin to undress, sliding off my disgusting pastel pink dress. It feels so good to be free of the material. My generously-sized bra comes next, followed by my dripping mustard yellow thong. I bend over the bed wearing only my combat boots, spreading my lips and presenting myself to him. He begins to remove his casing.

“No, no,” I say. “Keep it on.”

“PENETRATE!” he screams, his voice rising to a screeching crescendo as he thrusts into me, his gun stick vibrating in a most pleasing manner, the gun rods spinning inside me.

“Oh Ryan!” I scream in delight, my first orgasm rushing over me. “You're so good at this even though you're gay! Don't stop!”

His screams echo through the night, punctuated by the sounds of the party. His headlamps flash intermittently, creating sexy dancing shadows on the walls. He keeps thrusting into me fast and deep, his gun rods whirring. He flips me over, still inside me. I achieve multiple climaxes, the pleasure rippling through my contorted form, experiencing wave after wave of pure ecstasy as I writhe in pleasure.

“It feels like I've been locked out of heaven for so long!” I cry.

“EJACULATE!” he cries. “INSEMINATE!”

“Inside me,” I beg. “Please, I want it.”

Wordlessly, despite my urging, he withdraws from my oozing cavern and explodes in a shower of light, blowing a hole in the wall above the bed.

“Thank god that wasn't mind-blowing sex,” I laugh. He stares at me blankly. I understand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Roger Silencio standing in the corner of the room, watching. I blink, and forget.


	4. A Stony Betrayal

I awake to the feeling of a painful hangover in my pancreas. I roll over and my eyes fill with a yellow as bright as a banana.

“GOOD MORNING,” Ryan screams lovingly. “LAST NIGHT WAS EXTERMI-GREAT!”

Memories cut through the dense fog of WKD clouding my mind. I knew it was too strong for me, I should have stuck to the whiskey.

“Oh my god!” I cry, touching the back of my hand to my brow dramatically. “I'm so sorry, Ryan! That must have been awful for you. Thank god you're gay, it would be so awkward otherwise.”

“I AM NOT GAY,” he screeches regretfully, “AND I VERY MUCH ENJOYED THE PENETRATION.”

He's such a good friend, trying to spare my feelings. But I can tell from the way his eyestalk despairingly roves over my naked form, resting desperately on my ballooning bosom and dark feminine curls, that he regrets the whole incident. I rub myself against him apologetically. His eyestalk rises. His plunger engulfs my breast and begins to throb delightfully. I lubricate.

“Oh, Ryan, I'm so glad you forgive me. You're so good at massages,” I moan.

Just then, I feel a stony gaze on my alabaster backside. Suddenly, behind me, HE is there. Flint Livingston, standing, as still as a statue, in the bedroom.

He stares at me. I understand.

“I'm sorry!” I apologise apologetically. “It's not what it looks like! He's gay, it's okay!”

He continues to stare. I understand.

“How could you say that? You know I'd never cheat on you!”

I pull myself away from Ryan and roll over to my other side, only to find myself face-to-face with the vacant, textured visage of a forgotten lover. All my memories of our encounters come flooding back. I lubricate.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim. “I'm sorry! It's not what it looks like! He's gay, it's okay!”

I look back to Flint. I forget.

Flint stares at me. I understand.

I close my eyes. I reopen them. Flint is closer. He has a single finger outstretched. I imagine him caressing my face, or entering my gooey love cavern. I lubricate. I close my eyes again, awaiting the pleasure. I hear a slurpy pop beside me. I open my eyes suddenly, my butterfly lashes fluttering delicately against my skin. Flint's hand rests where Ryan once was.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I whisper in a manner as melancholy as a dog made out of a cantaloupe, throwing myself away from the now-empty bed, only to find a rubbery torso and a pair of delightfully pliable arms. “Roger,” I whisper, comforted as I bury myself in his slimy form. With a slurpy pop, I feel him vanish from within my arms. A single heroic tear trickles down my cheek, smearing my perfect emo makeup. I find myself now alone in the bed. All of the moistness has left my muffin.

“Flint, how could you do this?” I ask.

He looks at me. I understand.

Just then, Rory enters the room with a glass of water, no doubt to catch a glimpse of my naked figure.

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Amelia-Rose, you're still here? I thought everyone had gone home by now.”

He steps forward and offers me the water.

“I don't want anything from you!” I object, thrashing wildly to repel his lecherous hands.

“Look, Amelia-Rose, I've invited you into my home and I've tried to be civil with you, but I'm fast losing patience,” he says sternly.

“Don't you understand?” I cry, devastated, “I'm heartbroken! My gay best friend has been sent back in time!”

“Time, you say?” Rory responds thoughtfully. “I have a friend who may be able to lend a hand with that.”

VWORP VWORP Vworp vworp (,(,(,(,(,(,(-.-)

Just then, a celestial breeze blows my already-blowing golden hair and a blue wooden box materialises in the corner of the room. It is the colour of my eyes. My physics teacher, Mr Tennant, steps out of the mysterious blue box.

“I heard you need a Doctor,” he says with a sexy smirk. He sits down on the bed beside me. “Tell me your story.”

I tell him everything; about Flint, and about Ryan. As my story draws to a close, a single tear falls from my TARDIS-blue eye.

“Come on,” he says. “I'll get you some clothes, then you can join me in the TARDIS.”

“What's a TARDIS?” I ask, confused at this word I've never heard before.

“My blue box. Time and Relative Dimension in Space. It travels through space and time.”

I climb out of the bed, exposing my milky skin to the dim light of the room. I can tell from the way he hides his eyes behind his hands and averts his gaze that he is sneaking a peek at me, but I'm too heartbroken to care.

The Doctor returns with a dress. I can't tell whether it is white and gold or blue and black. I slip into it. It's a bitchin' dress, but I have soiled it with my ugly form. If only I were more bodacious. If only Ryan were here, it would suit him so much better than me. At the thought, another tear falls down my rosy cheek.

The Doctor takes me by the hand and leads me into the TARDIS.

“Huh,” I say. “Looks like you need to dust round here.”

The Doctor laughs and gallivants around the console pulling levers, his long brown coat swishing as he does.

“Well then, we'd better get you back in time then hadn't we?” He rubs his hands together and gives me a manic grin. Whizzing about like a cocaine-fuelled butterfly, he cranks another lever. I sigh, wondering how my life got this way. I miss Flint and his cool, chiselled grasp. How could he do this to me when I love him so?

The weird box jerks and The Doctor latches onto the console, steadying himself with his leg. He runs a hand through his floofy hair and his grin widens.

“Allonseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!” He cries like a madman in a box. We whish and whoosh through time, the strange VWORPING sound honking in my ears. The turbulence is almost too much to bear. All of sudden we screech to a halt. The Doctor skips round to the doors and places a hand on one, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

“Are you ready to step into another time?”

I nod once, my golden curls dancing around my cheeks. I take a deep breath and step through the doors.

To be continued...


	5. Intents Love

“London, 1943,” the Doctor announces as I step into a field. People dance around dressed in brightly coloured clothing, and a pungent, sour, herby aroma thickens the air. I feel happier and more peaced out, but I don't know why.

A flash of yellow catches my eye and my hopes are raised, until I realise it is just a tent. A tear falls from my TARDIS blue eye as I am reminded of Ryan's elegant form. Outside sits a man with long hair in a tie-dyed t-shirt, making a daisy chain. It's amazing how these people can have so much spirit considering the abject horror that must befall them on a daily basis.

Just then, I am distracted by a squeaking from my ample cleavage. I feel an odd, furry wriggle as Erasmus the Sixth emerges from between my breasts.

“Erasmus!” I cry, “You're here!”

He squeaks. I understand.

“You're here to help me find Ryan, you say? Well, then, let's get looking! With you by my side, I can never fail.”

I hear the sound of twanging guitars from across the field. It must be the sirens warning everyone about the bombs! But no one moves, they just sway to the sound, like my hair in the ever-present breeze. I admire their calmness and optimism in these terrible terrible times. 

Three hours later, I still haven't found Ryan. I feel like I'm falling into a relaxing pit of despair. I'm about to lose all hope but then a kind-hearted man emerges from a forest and offers me a teapot full of a comforting looking beverage. I remove the orange and green tea cosy and take a big gulp. It is slightly sweet, then sour, and I feel the elixir slowly warming my heart, then the world transforms around me. Colours become other colours, red and yellow and pink and green, orange and purple and blue. The field transforms into a shade of Ryan-yellow. I become worried that Ryan has been shattered into a thousand pieces and scattered among the daisies. But that can't be … the world now darkens and I worry that I am plunging into the void. A Ryan-less, Flint-less void. Oh Flint! I miss Flint! Why is the world? Maybe the bombs have found me, but maybe that is ok. But the sound of the twangy sirens continue, and assure me that I am still part of the world. In fact I think I may be in my forest. But one of the trees becomes Erasmus the sixty ninth! Actually there are no trees, there is just Erasmus. I continue on the search for Ryan through the Erasmus maze. Some of them look angry at me and I become scared that I have lost one of the only friends I may have and that Erasmus the Forty Second now hates me, like everyone else in the world. The floor becomes daisies but the daisies aren't strong enough and I fall into the pit. 

Suddenly, I ascend slightly and I see faces surrounding me. They look so kind, and I realise maybe there is hope in the world. I seep. The grass is green again and I am filled with a new determination to find Ryan.

I turn my head with a flick of my golden hair and all of a sudden, Roger is there. Memories of a thousand cherished moments come rushing back like an angry bull and I collapse into his arms, my panties seeping.

“Oh Roger! I've found you again! I've been so scared in this strange strange place. War is horrible.” I shake my head knowingly, my heart touched by the horrors I've seen. Delicate, spongey fingers push the hair back from my face and I sigh in contentment. Everything is so much better with Roger here. How could Flint be so cruel as to take him away from me, all because of a misunderstanding? Perhaps Flint isn't the one for me after all.  
I gasp at the thought. No, it's not possible! Flint is just passionate, that's all. And yet Roger is passionate too. When I think of all our encounters in my forest...but now is not the time. Ryan could be in danger!

“We have to save Ryan!” I cry, unselfishly pushing aside my wanton desires. Though I want nothing more than for Roger to take me right here, right now, my gay Dalek best friend is more important.

Roger though, has other ideas. He whips out his gigantic loveslug and I seep. Before I can protest further, his wet mouth conquers mine and our tongues begin a prurient tango. Not caring that we're surrounded by people, his leathery hands tear open my white and gold/black and blue dress and dance across my skin. Panting hard, he pushes me back into a nearby tent.

“Oh Roger!” All thoughts of Ryan forgotten, I seep further. Excited by the brush of clammy flesh on my warm skin, I reach for his slime-slicked joystick. Slowly I begin to rub both my hands up and down on either side of it, as though it were a piece of delectable firewood. Twizzling his disco-stick between my palms, I can feel his thirst growing. As his slobbering fun pole reaches its climax, I lower myself onto it. He thrusts into me and I shatter into a juicy apex.

“Oh Roger!” All of a sudden, the scent of burning canvas fills the air. I finish my orgasm and open my eyes only to see that the tent has caught fire. The other people present run screaming from it as I untangle myself from my muculent lover.

Fear twitches in my chest, like a cannibal midget in a fat man's ribcage. A scream wrenches itself free from my throat. I flee outside into the fresh air, beneath the plumes of smoke that leak across the sky – already, the flame seems to be spreading from tent to tent, like a particularly tenacious STD.

The amber glow of flaming flames lights up like my face, like nobody else. My TARDIS-blue eyes are wide with terror. My head whirls around, desperation seeping into my tones.

“HELP! Somebody!”

Nobody saves me – they run, and scream a bit. The smoke fills the sky. More and more tents have been ensnared by the stretching fire, and flecks of ash flit through the air like tiny butterflies that are also on fire. I trip, suddenly, and fall to my knees.

“NO! Not like this! Not like this!”

Suddenly, something whooshes. A figure appears behind me – his eyes are fathomless and slate-grey, like polluted lakes, and his features are sculpted with concern. A hard hand sits on my shoulder, and a lump of terrified excitement rises in my throat and twitches in my loins.

“F-Flint!”

He looks at me. I understand. My God, I understand.


	6. Earthcock

“Flint!”

I run to him, my combat boots clomping on the ground. My eyes brim with tears, and my crotch brims with fluid. Gently, I cup his stone-carved face with my alabaster hands, my TARDIS-blue eyes gleaming with passionate lust and lustful passions. My hand streaks down his cold, cold cheek like a single teardrop in the midst of a howling storm.

“You came back for me!”

_How can you see into my eyes like open doors?_  
_Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb_

He looks at me. I almost blink, coquettishly, to allow him to move, to groove, to shake, to sweep me off my feet like a sexy, sexy mop. But then I remember. I’m angry with him!

“You sent Ryan away!” I pluck the fedora from my head and clutch it to my heaving bosom, glaring at him with angry anger and furious anger. “Now this fedora is all I have left! It represents everything he stood for!” My lip wobbles, and I call up all the strength I can gather from my inner goddess.

_Without a soul my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold_  
_Until you find it there and lead it back home_

“What do you have to say about that? Hm?!”

My knees are shaking. Perhaps this is the end. Perhaps I must make my final choice, like a leaf on the wind deciding to make a choice, and offer my fresh and beating heart to the verisimilitudinous ravages of fate. I hold my breath. I blink.

_(Wake me up)_  
_Wake me up inside_  
_(I can't wake up)_  
_Wake me up inside_  
_(Save me)_  
_Call my name and save me from the dark_

I hear a SNAP. I open my eyes.

Flint’s expression is unreadable, but I can see a desperate plea for forgiveness leaking from his eyes. I leak back, and silently press my legs together. Behind Flint, a man in a tie-dyed t-shirt seems to be lying dead on the verdant grass, his neck twisted 180 degrees. I shake my head. War is hell. There’s blood on Flint too, and my heart leaps to my throat – did the Blitz bomb get him, too? But no, he’s fine – his arm is outstretched, and he holds a slightly-bloodied necklace of flowers in my general direction.

Flowers! For me! He DOES care! My heart flutters, like a concussed pigeon.

FLINT IS THE BEST BOYFRIEND EVER!

“Oh Flint~! I’m feeling happy now!” I throw myself into his stony arms, daring to desecrate the slate-grey magnificence of his shapely form with my filthy, disgusting curves. I wriggle, happily, in his stony embrace. “My star! My glorious brightness! I missed you so much!”

Flint says nothing. I understand, and cuddle closer, clutching my flowers tight. My bosom heaves, like a pair of bucking stallions. My fluids mingle with the blood on his stone form. Though my vagina is wet, it is still potentially useful for sex things.

“I promise I’ll never betray you again! Now let’s go find Ryan! Together!”

But then suddenly Flint isn’t there anymore! I gasp, and look around. Woodstock is still happening, so it seems – though the fires of my loins still burn bright, the fires that were spreading around the campsite and killing people appear to have been put out. S-Club 7 have taken the stage, and appear to be doing a song. But where is Flint?! Where?! WHERE?!

“FLINT!” I fall to the ground, helpless. I’m so adorably clumsy. I lie on the ground and close my eyes, sobbing. “FLINT!”

“Amelia Rose! Come on! Molto bene, this way!”

It’s Doctor Tennant, riding in like a white knight on a horse except he doesn’t actually have a horse and he’s walking! His quiff trembles valiantly in the wind. He’s grinning as he saunters, and with one swift movement he stoops down and helps me to my feet.

“You wouldn’t BELIEVE the adventure I just had! Davros, the Daleks, the Time Lords AND the Black Guardian! And 57 Doctors! We defeated them all, with the power of Christ.” Doctor Tennant did that sucking-on-his-teeth thing he did. “And you just ran into a Weeping Angel! ‘Ah well.” He smiled. “At least there weren’t any Abzorbaloffs!”

“What’s a that thing you just said, Doctor?”

“The Abzorbaloffs are the most dangerous race in the Universe”, said Doctor Tennant, darkly. “BUT, that was just a Weeping Angel! I zapped him away somewhere!”

“What?” My lip wobbles. I reverse-dampen in my confused sadness – the moisture retreats into my tunnel of love. “But that was Flint!”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave a Weeping Angel standing around, hypothetically in a graveyard somewhere! That’d be stupid!” Doctor Tennant shook his head, chidingly. “Think of how that might change history!”

The burning remains of Woodstock smouldered behind him.

“BUT THAT WAS FLINT!”

My impassioned rebuttal failed to change his mind. Sobbing, I turned away, fleeing into the slightly-flaming distance. Doctor Tennant yelled at my back.

“Amelia-Rose! Wait! You don’t know where you’re going!”

I continued to run. My heart pounded in my head like a drum. Why did everyone I love get zapped into time somewhere? Why did I have so many relatable teenage problems? “It’s because I’m so ugly, isn’t it?!”

Amid the ruins of smouldering tents, a door appeared in the ground – it was a hatch of some kind. My TARDIS-blue eyes were fixed to it. I wrenched it open with my slender, pale arms, and ran down a set of stairs. Stainless white walls and the smell of disinfectant greeted me.

I appeared to be in a corridor! Maybe this was the underground base underneath Woodstock! I ran forward. I wanted to be alone with my stupid fat thoughts. But already, I could hear Doctor Tennant clambering heroically down the hatch, Converse squeaking.

“Amelia-Rose! Stop!”

I panted, thrusting forward inside the long, hot corridor. Its walls were moist. My footsteps pounded the corridor again and again, and it seems to tremble - perhaps with pleasure - beneath my feet. I was beginning to get sweaty, but I rushed forwards towards whatever climax awaited me -

And then behind me, there was a noise! A tall, silver man stepped from the shadows. Behind him were four more of these men. They looked like some kind of robot man, or cyber person – all sleek silver and dead, black eyes and blank, emotionless faces.

“Amelia-Rose!” The first of the robot men clanked from the shadows, rattling in its armour like a cat in a washing machine. “You base n00b! GG no re! All your you are belong to us!”

“NO! Leave her, you fool!” This cyber person had a black face. The black meant it was more evil. Its voice was utterly lacking in emotion. “It’s the Doctor we want! And soon, revenge shall be ours!”

The cyborg men encircled me, and terror burned in my TARDIS-blue eyes! Suddenly, Doctor Tennant ran to my side. He shoved one of the Cybermen to the floor, and it died.

“’Ah, Doctor! You have joined us at last!”

The cyber robot tore off its black face, with a maniacal laugh – beneath it lay a rotting, pale face, embedded with wires. A moustache sat above his lip. The Doctor’s eyes went wide, before he grit his teeth and his face burned with hatred.

“Brigader!” The Doctor Tennant snarls. “You treacherous stain of grease!”

“Doctor!” I turn to him, shaking like a “What’s a Brigader?”

“Brigader was my old enemy when I was Third Doctor Tennant! He is a very bad man who must be punished!”

“HAHAHA!” Brigader cackles, emotionlessly. “But you see, Doctor, I am not grease! And I am no longer Brigader! I am Cyber Man! I have all the powers of a man, but also I’m a robot now!”

“Oh no!” I quiver, trembling like a scarecrow in the wind. “He’s unstoppable!”

“Now you will pay, Doctor! For destroying my planet in the Time War! And SO WILL AMELIA-ROSE!!”

I scream. Doctor Tennant takes my face into his hands, and stares into my eyes. He is fire, and ice, and rage. He is vengeance. He is the night. He is the Oncoming Storm, and the last bastion against the darkness.

“We’re going to have to have sex with them.”

“What?!”

“Trust me, Amelia-Rose! It’s the only way!” Doctor Tennant is already taking his pants off, strategically tying his tie over his head. “I’ve done this before. The introduction of my sonic screwdriver into their tight, tight deadlocks is the only way to solve this crisis!”

I wail, distraught. “But I’m a virgin!”

I trust Doctor Tennant so much, but I am still unsure. I close my eyes, and think of Flint, and Ryan. The fedora is still on my head. What if I never see them again? What if I can never save them?

“NOW I WILL USE MY LASER WEAPON NOW! WITH FIVE RAPID ROUNDS!” Cyber Man raised his arm, like a Nazi wrapped in tin-foil, and an evil smirk blossomed on his emotionless metal face. “AND WE’LL WILL HAVE OUR REVENGE!!!”

“But wait!” I do my best to look attractive. It’s so hard, with my womanly curves and soft lips and tall, slender legs. I’m disgusting. I hate myself so much. “You COULD be taking your revenge on the Doctor and taking over the world, but you could also be having sex with us!”

I immediately hear a knocking sound from the cyber robots’ codpieces, as something lurches to attention inside them. Cyber Man’s eyes raise, and he slowly lowers his laser gun, putting the silencer back on.

“Very well! We have an arrangement! Kinky Kinky Lovin’ Protocols Activate!”

The cyborg man codpieces peel back, with a series of mechanical whirrs. Beneath them, I can see the scabby remnants of dead pubic hair. Dead necrotic flesh, smeling faintly of disinfectant and rot, filled their crevices – their purple-headed warriors dangle limply at first, but they extend with a series of whirs until each one is two feet long. Their tips are USB compatible.

Notably, one of them appeared to have dyed their genitals bright pink, and sprinkled glitter on them. I nodded appreciatively, at this Cosmo Sex Tip™.

Cyber Man’s cold metal hand grips his Prince Hards of his Southern Isles, and he fondles it until it begins to vibrate. The wires that run inside it spark into life. I can see the metal skeleton beneath forming itself into a hard rod, through the holes in the rotting, putrid flesh.

Cyber Man grips my hands, and pushes me against the wall, yanking down my pants. His girthy baby-maker forces itself into my secret sweetness. This time, I do not orgasm after a single thrust – because Cyber Man doesn’t love me enough – but despite myself, I begin to leak.

Doctor Tennant runs forward, past me, and leaps onto a pair of robot men, wrapping his arms around their necks and thrusting at them vigorously. His own ultimate expression of manness flops at his legs, rising into hardness like a jousting sword. “Allons-y!”

Cyber Man’s cold, metal mouth runs itself along my swan-like neck. I can feel his cold, metal fingers twisting at my nipples, massaging my mounds, as if he were priming the switches on some doomsday device. The thought sends a spike of arousal up my spine. Bad boys make me so hot!

I turn my head. Doctor Tennant is thrusting vigorously into the gleaming steel buttocks of the cyborg man in front of him.

“Oh! Oh take it you little bastard! Take it!”

At the same time, a towering silver guardian rams him from behind, the bulbous, black veins in its fleshy vibro-penis bulging beneath the thin layer of pale, pallid skin. Jolts of fun time rumble in its fleshy joystick, and Doctor Tennant moans through his gritted teeth as its pounding thrusts pierce his back hole.

Two of the cyborg men have been left out. One of them has glumly put on some nipple-clamps, attaching them to its internal battery and vibrating with pleasure. It gamely rams its Half-Mast Man into the dead robot man’s shattered chest hole, in a vain attempt to reach the Promised Land.

And I can hear a sound in the corner, like someone slapping a fish. I turn, and all of a sudden I remember – Roger Silencio! My secret paramour! He watches me with glazed black eyes in sunken sockets, his hand jerking faster and faster at his own formidable rod, the trousers of his immaculate suit pooled around his ankles. He appeared to be holding up a video camera.

Roger must believe I can handle this myself! The thought spurs me on. I continue, on my stain-slicked road to paradise. But Cyber Man’s moans of orgasmic lust are beginning to sound stuttery, fractured, broken! His no-no place sizzles, with leaking oil!

“Oh! OhhhOHHH!” Cyber Man shakes. “What is this thing you humans call orgasming!”

“Why, it’s the most human thing there is!” Doctor Tennant is grinning wide. The cyborg man behind him slips free from his bum with a squelch, gripping its head and falling to the floor, and the robot man in front does the same soon after. “Too much emotion for YOU lot, though, isn’t it!”

Suddenly, the heads of the two cyborg men explode in unison! Brains leak from their metal shells onto the floor. The cyborg man thrusting into its dead partner pauses briefly to scoop some brain juices up – it forgot to apply the lubricant – but then its head also explodes, too.

Doctor Tennant’s pants are back on. He pats my shoulder, with a friendly smile. “There? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I giggle. “I guess it really was MIND-BLOWING sex!”

Only Cyber Man remains, but he is shaking, on his hands and knees on the floor. Doctor Tennant reaches out a hand.

“Cyber Man!” The Doctor Tennant held out his hand, imploringly, voice brimming with compassion. “Surrender! Let me help you!”

Cyber Man’s expression changed, on his blank face. Hope filled his eyes for the first time. “Really?” Doctor Tennant smiled.

“LOL! Fuck you”

Doctor Tennant then punched Cyber Man to the Moon.

“We did it, Doctor!” I pull him into an excited hug.

“Yes, well.” Said Doctor Tennant. “Cybermen are a bit shit.”

Some more Cyberman reinforcements forced open the door of the base, but then they fell down the stairs and died. I giggle, bouncing happily. Doctor Tennant pulls me into the air, and we have a spinny hug –

\- but then my combat boots lose their grip on the sodden earth, slipping on the gooey CyberseMen spurting its last from their expired corpses, and we topple to the floor! I land on top of Doctor Tennant, but he hits the ground hard, and bangs his head!

“I’m sorry!” I cry. “I’m so adorably clumsy!”

Doctor Tennant gasps, dramatically. Blood pours from the wound on his head, and he blinks, dazed. His skin begins to take on a regenerative glow. I grip his hand, tightly, concerned.

“Doctor? What’s happening?”

“I’m regenerating…no!” Doctor Tennant looks scared. Fear flashes across his face like a well-paid stripper. The glow gets brighter, and more intense, and threatens to swallow his features whole.

“You were my best companion, Amelia-Rose! Better than Amelia AND Rose put together! And Donna! And Martha! And Sherlock! And Loki that one time!”

“Doctor Tennant! No!” My eyes leak. “You can’t do this to me!”

“I…” His voice quavers, and he stares into the dying of the light. “I don’t want to leave!”

And a flash of burning, alien light engulfs him, knocking me aside. He screams, voice warping and changing into someone else’s entirely. Suddenly, the glow fades and he sits up, with wide eyes and big, bushy eyebrows.

“What the fuckin’ fuck’s this then, you daft bint?”

I stare, in horror. Where’s Doctor Tennant gone! I’m confused easily! And now there’s someone else sitting here, with grey hair and lines all over his face and a Scottish accent! And his clothes have also regenerated into this black magician coat! And he’s…OLD! He’s SO OLD!

“Alright.” He staggers to his feet. “Come the fuck on or fuck the fuck off-“

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I slap him, as hard as I can. Immediately, his face bursts back into the same alien light, and the chorus of Vale Decem chimes in the background. Doctor Tennant’s face emerges from the light, blinking owlishly.  
“Well that was…odd.”

“Doctor! It was horrible!” I hug him tightly. “There was someone else! There was another man!” I look around, nervously. “M-maybe he’s still out there, being Scottish at people!”

The Doctor pats me on the head, and shushes me. “It’s OK, Amelia Rose. The bad man’s gone. Now, let’s get out of here, shall we!” He takes my hand with his soft, sexy fightin’ hand, and fishes some glasses from his pocket, slipping them onto his face. “Just gotta put on my brainy specs…”

“DOCTOR!” I scream, alarmed. “There’s another man! There’s another other man!”

“Oh, Amelia Rose!” The Doctor smiles. “You’re so awesome and capable!”

~~~~~x0x0x~x0x0x~x0x0x~x0x0x~x0x0x~~~~~

“You see, Doctor?”

The blonde woman smiled at her companion, gesturing to the image in front of them, playing out from what looked like a clockwork cube. They were in a rickety-looking barn, of some sort – alien sands had been swept in from outside, and strange birds screeched their calls above the roof.

“Now that you’ve saved Gallifrey, this is just one of the many potential futures you’ve created for yourself! Isn’t it wonderful?”

The War Doctor was staring into space. His craggy face looked ashen, and struck by horror. He was silent, for a long, long time.

“…I think I’d like to make the choice again, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not the end yet! Stay tuned for Chapter 7: Our-cum Ass-ylum!


	7. Our-cum Ass-ylum

Doctor Tennant and I start to run with all the urgency of a teenager reaching for the morning-after pill. We have to find Ryan!!! I won’t rest until my gay BFF and I are reunited. I think fondly of all the good times we had and I dampen…from my eyes. As if to compensate, my loins grow dry.

“Quickly! We have to find Ryan!”

“So you keep saying. But you haven’t told me about him.”

I screech to a halt, my thigh-high boots scraping on the ground. My God, he’s right! How could I have overlooked something so important when I am so blessed with brains?

“Oh Doctor Tennant, he’s simply marvellous! He has a towering frame and an imposing voice; he glides around effortlessly and his head spins in a magnificent circle. I see lights flash whenever he speaks. And he’s so sweet, he always watches me undress just to make sure I’m safe. It’s such a shame he’s gay. But I’m worried I may have spoilt everything by taking advantage of him so insensitively.”

As I cry, majestic tears rolling down my rosy cheeks, an image of him flashes into my mind. Of course! How could I forget my post-coital telepathic link?

“Doctor!” I cry, excitedly. “I know where he is! Grab my hand!”

Doctor Tennant reaches out and takes my hand trustingly. As I close my eyes and begin to focus on the faint image of Ryan in my mind, I feel a second hand, this one with the texture of an eraser, on my arm. Before I can process this thought, I vanish with a loud flash and find myself immediately in an asylum of some kind, surrounded by Ryans of several colours. It must be a Ryan Asylum.

Sapped of my sexual energy, I collapse to the floor, gasping and reaching desperately into my underwear. I need to achieve orgasm soon or all will be lost. I paw ineffectively at my nether-curls, but it is no use and I feel my consciousness fade. Just as everything goes black, those delightfully slimy, rubbery hands begin to roam my smooth, buxom figure, lifting my skirt and removing my delicate thong, inserting his eel. The orgasm reinvigorates me instantly, and I sit up, riding him like an eight-year-old girl on a pony. I moan, orgasm after orgasm crashing over me as I beg him to fill me with his slime. He complies in short time, his muculence seeping from my virgin love-cavern and trickling down my porcelain legs.

“Daleks!” Doctor Tennant exclaims, whipping out his Sonic Screwdriver while restricting himself to a single entendre.

“Doctor Tennant, no! They’re Ryans!” I run towards the closest Ryan, beautiful in his shiny gold case. Ryan turns to face me, his gunstick creaking upward, as I leap into the spot where his arms should be, wrapping my arms around his neck. He clatters to the floor, with a hoarse, croaking cry.

“Ryan! I missed the way you fell to the floor like that!” I lightly pat his collar, and a few flakes of rust come loose. I can smell the acrid tang of long-dried bodily fluids and acidic feeding substances, and that is the smell of friendship.

“POWER RESERVES ARE INSUFFICIENT! I CANNOT STAND NOW THAT YOU HAVE TOPPLED ME. I WILL MOST LIKELY DIE HERE.”

“Yaaaaaaay!” I beam, carefully placing the fedora onto his dome. “I’m so glad you’re safe-“  
But, suddenly, the fedora slides off his crooked dome and lands on the dusty floor! I stare, trembling, for a long long time, before I can bring myself to utter a tiny, trembling proclamation.

“You’re…YOU’RE NOT RYAN!” I stagger to my feet. Sadness tears into me like hungry teeth into a chimichanga. I realise that I’m surrounded by Ryans! A dusty-looking silver Ryan with blue balls running along his chassis! A white and gold Ryan that might also be blue and black! In fact, LOTS of those! More gold Ryans! A Special Weapons Ryan of some kind, exposing his fabulously swollen energy weapon for the world to see! Also, that one! 

How do I tell them apart?! My brain feels like hurting! My gaze whirls from Ryan to Ryan to Ryan, and I frantically try to think of a plan, just like Doctor Tennant would have done, if he were here. What do I remember about Ryan? I remember how he used to look me in the eye. I remember how he used to look me in the nipples. I remember the gentle touch of his plunger massaging my chest-mounted milk hills. I remember-

Of course! That’s it! I know what his plunger feels like, I know the feel of his vibrating, skull-crushing rubber cup above all others! And that means…

“I’m going to have to have sex with them!”

Determinedly, I grab the edges of my shirt and tear it off down the middle, exposing my lower skin-and-fleshy-bits layer to the world, like Superman, if on his planet the “S” stood for breasts! I hesitate for a moment as I think of Flint, but I must do this, even though I am a virgin, I will sacrifice my delicate flower for my one, my only, gay bae Ryan.

I thrust my chest into the plunger of the nearest Ryan, my mounds filling his sucking, rubbery, slurp machine. But it’s not right, my Ryan’s feels much softer and gentler. As I approach a blue dalek I notice a red ring on my lady pillow, I ignore it, instead continuing with my noble mission and rest my spongy love mountain onto the blue Ryan’s plunger. It gently massages me, but it is not right, my Ryan’s plunger is much firmer and its action more vigorous, like the fucking he gave me that time.

I detach myself and notice an orange ring on my fun bag, I dribble. I run into the sucker of love of a black and silver Ryan, and it croaks an orgasmian rhapsody as its voice bubbles with delight, just like the thick, green alien semen glowing with irradiated light that drools down its battered, lumpy chassis.

“IS THIS THE REAL LIFE? IS THIS MY ORGASM? BROUGHT TO MY CLIMAX! IN A WONDERFUL LOVE SPASM! OPEN MY CLOACA, REMOVE MY FLESH POKER AND SEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

This seems like sound and logical advice! I follow it. Reaching past the Dalek's love folds into the warm, musty depths of its cloaca, and massaging the thick and twitching clusters of tentacles that lovingly grope my throat, I draw out a long and thick appendage that blooms like a flower, revealing a veiny, pulsating head beneath. An irradiated eye, yellow and cloudy, seems to be embedded in its tip, a tiny deformity of radiation poisoning that squints in the harsh daylight. I stroke the Dalek's shaft, lovingly, and it weeps misty tears of joy, a special little Lake of Mutations pooling at its base, just for me-

“ENOUGH. IT IS MY TIME NOW.”

The voice of the Special Weapons Ryan booms, as dominant as an alpha wolf with seven knots in his penis (we'll get to that kink later, promise! xoxo) It rolls forward, energy crackling from the tip of its gun, just like a tank that wants to have sex with me. 

Special Weapons Ryan is very big – thirty and a half feet which juts from the centre of his mass, rumbling and vibrating with mechanically-enhanced lust. Gulping, staring at the three patches of rainbow – orange, yellow and blue – that pepper my breasts, I bite my lip and groan as he enters my widening love chasm, forcing its edges to their absolute limits, sending convulsing stabs of pain and pleasure through the ballooning borders of my tortured flesh. It's worth it, though. For Ryan.

Aggressively, snarling, he lurches forward again and again. I moan, voice flanged with lust, and a quiver of sheer sexmagical brilliance roars its way up my spine. I can feel his weapon brushing sexily against my hip bones, forcing them wider, and the black jungle of matted hair that surrounds my depths crackles with static charge, curling happily at the edges.

“Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!”

I orgasm and he also has an orgasm at roughly the same time. His voice booms, and trembles of aftershock lovin' rattle down his form with every syllable. A single tentacle emerges from a crack in the sides of his armour, and roughly smears a green circle on my orb of attraction next to the patches of colour I'd managed to accumulate beforehand.

“YOU HAVE SERVED YOUR PURPOSE. PROCEED OR BE EXTERMINATED.”

I bite my lip. Bad boys make me so hot. Winking sexily, I spin on my heel and walk away. Well, at least something good came of this.

But one of them's missing! None of those Ryans were MY Ryan! An image of him flashes into my mind again; he is with another Ryan, but this one looks like a lady-Ryan! I'm so jealous that he's got a new BFF, I thought our friendship was special. I run into the room where I know he is, only to find him with his plunger all over her gold and silver orbs.

“OH OSWIN,” Ryan moans, “YOUR BUMPS FEEL SO GOOD.”

Their eyestalks bump happily against each other, chaste and loving. Tiny sparks buzz like the beginnings of a static charge as they tap again and again, like gentle kisses to a lover's eyelids. Involuntary sighs, each accompanied by a little flash of light from their domes, float through the long-abandoned halls like drunk flies.

Staring into her eyestalk, Ryan delicately screeches, “YOUR EYESTALK IS SO BEAUTIFUL, ITS BLUENESS IS LIKE A SAPPHIRE POOL.”

“AND THE YELLOWNESS OF YOUR FRAME IS BEAUTIFUL LIKE THE MIDDAY SUN, RYAN.”

“MY ROMANTIC ATTRACTION LEVELS HAVE REACHED MAXIMUM CAPACITY. RECORDS INDICATE YOU ARE THE ABSOLUTE GREATEST.”

“MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE, AND YOU WILL NOT BE DESTROYED.”

I glower jealously. That bitch turned my gay friend straight! I kick her really really hard. A panel falls from her metallic figure, and a woman crawls out wearing a slinky red dress. Her hair is the colour of chocolate, her skin immaculately smooth and pale. A smile spreads across her adorable round face, her deep, shiny brown eyes lighting up like a sky full of stars. My god, she's beautiful. I dribble, and it doesn't stop.

“Thank you!” she ejaculates. “You saved me! Even the Doctor couldn't do that! As is standard in the damsel-in-distress genre, we must have sex now.”

“Oh,” I say jealously, still dribbling, “okay.”

She turns around and I unzip her dress. It falls to the floor, leaving her in some kind of underwear that is sexy but not too revealing. Alternatively, if you have a fetish for a certain type of undergarment, insert it here.

I reciprocate by removing my own clothing, down to my underwear. But my constant dribbling has corroded away my underwear, leaving me naked apart from my huge bra. I hate my body, I feel so inadequate next to such magnificence.

“Take me, Amelia-Rose,” Oswin Oswald demands in a low, sexy voice. “Ryan has told me much of your talents, and I wish to feel you touch my bathing suit regions.”

I reach around her back and unclasp her brassiere, freeing her magnificent breasts from their prison, her hazelnut nipples hardening in the cool air of the Ryan Asylum. Speaking of Ryan, he appears to be undergoing some unusual motions in the corner of the room, strange sounds emanating from his interior. I lean towards her breasts, reaching out a desperate tongue to make gentle, jealous contact with her perfect nubs. I must teach her a lesson, through the medium of erotic pleasure. She arches her back against my gentle contact, her eyes begging for more.

I oblige, removing my own bra and straightening so that my powder-pink nipples lightly brush hers, feeling her vibrate with pleasure at the touch, a sigh parting her soft, pink lips into a delectable pout. Unable to take it for a second longer, I push her underwear down her long, feminine legs, revealing her neatly trimmed tuft of light brown lady-lawn. Pushing her back against Ryan, her pert buttocks pressing into his cold metallic exterior, I begin to kiss her smooth, flawless skin jealously, my mouth wandering over every inch of her.

I move lower, my kisses becoming more feverish and desperate as I move down over her soft lumps and curves, past her still-hard nipples and down her flat, toned stomach, along the V-shape between her torso and her legs, teasing her with the thought of my tongue in her most intimate place, but pulling away to kiss my way up the inside of her toned calves and sleek thighs, slowing my pace as I get closer and closer to the holy grail between her legs, as desperate for my tongue as I am to taste her juices.

She reaches her arms overhead to grip onto Ryan's metal dome as I lap at her wet folds, my tongue making tiny circles on her swollen nub of love. She moans out in pleasure, throwing her head back and letting primal sounds escape from her delicate throat.

“Amelia-Rose,” she moans, “Oh my stars, please, please don't stop.”

With a smirk, I use my tongue to push her over the edge, bringing her wave after wave of bliss and reducing her petite frame to a shuddering mess of delight. She pants as she slides down Ryan's side and her round buttocks touch the cold metal of the floor, catching her breath for long enough to give me a sexy smile. Ryan's lights flash, his eyestalk pumping.

“E-JAC-U-LATE! E-JAC-U-LATE! E-JAC-U-LATE!”

“I wonder what he's thinking about?” I shrug, turning to my new les-BFF with bright, TARDIS-blue eyes. “What will you do now, Oswin Dalek?”

“Well, my name is Oswin Human now!” Oswin smiles, resting her hand on my shoulder. “And we have to go find Flint, remember, who I also know about!”

“Sounds good!”

Coital energies flow down to my bones, as a direct result of my boning, and I take Oswin's hand in mine. Ryan rolls forward and joins our embrace before we vworp sexily into the unknown. I am no longer a virgin – I have finally mushed my snuggle parts against another human being – and I have boldly come where I have never come before.

Doctor Tennant sprints around the corner with wide eyes, the barrel of his sonic AK-47 smoking from fresh headshots, just as we vworp away and spray light all over the place. He stops, staring, and looks into the absence where the me should be with unbelieving confusion.

“Oh, what the ALLONS-FUCK?”


	8. Sweet Sugar Kandyman

We vworp to Terra Alpha's Kandy Kitchen. I know this as soon as we arrive due to my post-coital hyperknowledge of all things. For some reason, I am overcome by sadness and grief at the loss of my Flint. Oh Flint! How I miss his stoicness and his chiselled features, his stony gaze and rock hard abs. I leak as I think of him, from both my eyes and my loins. His abs aren't the only rock hard part of him, if you know what I mean. I run into Clara's arms, burying my face in her perfect shoulder, crying onto her cardigan.

“Oh Clara,” I weep, “I miss my Flint so, so much!”

“I know,” she replies, patting me on the back. “We all miss him.”

“I can't believe he would ever accuse me of cheating on him! I would never do anything like that to him, for I love him so.”

Ryan makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a cough or a snort of derision.

“You can do so much better than him, Amelia-Rose,” Clara reassures me. “You're simply perfect in every way.”

“Oh Clara, I'm so glad I found you! With you to love me and the support of Ryan as my gay BFF, I have everything I need right here. Yet there is still a Flint-shaped hole in my heart.” My tears do not stop.

As I cry, a creature suspiciously resembling Bertie Bassett enters the room. “Sadness is forbidden,” the Kandyman intones in his high-pitched, childlike voice. “You must be executed.”

I am startled by his sudden appearance, and confused by how his creator got away with infringing on the copyright of the famous confectionery mascot. But there's no time for that now, I can see him preparing his Fondant Surprise. Taking aim, he fires his warm, thick, sticky fluid at me. I close my eyes, but taste only the first few drops of vanilla on my waiting tongue. The pleasure washes over me; it's so wrong, but yet so, so right. But the warmth and flavour are cruelly ripped away after the first few delectable drops, and I remain alive. Opening my eyes, I see Ryan's dome coated in the Kandyman's delicious Fondant Surprise, freezing him in place and filling up all of his orifices.

“Nooo, Ryan!” I cry.

“Drat!” the Kandyman exclaims. “I must prepare more Fondant Surprise for your execution.” He turns away to cook up another batch.

Clara and I look into each other's eyes, and an idea flashes into my mind. “We need some kind of sticky liquid!”

“Lemonade!” she exclaims, her beautiful round face lighting up adorably with pride and excitement at her idea. She's amazing, and I'm so, so lucky to have found her. I feel that soon, all thoughts of Flint may be extinguished from my mind, replaced with the light of her undying love. We're just friends though. As Clara runs off to find many gallons of lemonade, I watch her swaying bottom, and cream.

Something in the corner of my vision catches my eye. He is there. Roger stands tall and ready, his beautiful grey skin standing out among the crazy colour of the Kandy Kitchen. My heart melts like a fudgesicle. How could I have forgotten him? Afraid that I might die a horrible, strawberry-delicious death, I rush at Roger and throw myself into his waiting arms.  
”Oh Roger! You have to save me! We need something sticky to kill the Kandyman or else he'll pleasure me to death!”

“I'm the only one allowed to do that!” He gargles, “Never fear, my sweet slug. I will save you!” Clutching me with his spongy hands, he captures my mouth in a sudden kiss. I swoon against him as he begins to unbutton my shirt, all thoughts of a sugary death as forgotten as Roger was to me a few seconds prior. Eramus escapes from my cleavage as he tears open my bra and Roger's pouting mouth engulfs my nipple.

“You are amazing,” he rasps, “But I fear we need something a little more... unusual to save you.”

Before I can ask what he means, he whips out a strawberry lace and snaps it suggestively. I watch as he takes the slightly sticky rope and loops it around my wrist, securing it to a taffy puller. He does the same with my other wrist and both my ankles so I am splayed out, completely at his mercy. Smirking, he adjusts his tie before reaching behind me and grabbing a pot of hot caramel.

“What are you going to do with that?” I gasp. I have never creamed more.

He raises one hairless eyebrow and starts pouring the hot caramel on my lady lips. Hot waves of gooey delight ooze through me and I feel the first burning wave of an orgasm. All of a sudden, I'm halted by a new wondrous sensation. I glance down to see Roger spooning scoops of vanilla ice cream, filling me with its icy goodness. The combination is too much. By the time his slippery eel enters me, I'm already ice-creaming with euphoria. He mixes my lemon pie with love and makes the world taste good. I feel him shudder and suddenly he erupts, sprinkling me with dew as he withdraws. Collecting up his cream, he throws it at the Kandyman.

“Curses!” The Kandyman kries, screaming as Roger's muculent love splatters his sugar-coated skin. He begins to melt instantly, the sticky fluid gluing his feet to the floor and dissolving him down to nothing more than circuits. My TARDIS-blue eyes fill with joy and I rush to thank Roger, only to realise that I'm still at his mercy. He finishes doing a tasty volcano impression and turns back to me.

“I'm not finished with you yet!” He grins, producing a licorice whip. Before he can take me to a new realm of pleasure, Clara comes racing back in.

“I've got the lemon— oh dear god!”

Roger drops the whip and runs away. I forget him.

“Oh Amelia-Rose! You did this for me? What a sweet surprise!”

“Oh, uh, yes, I must have done, I suppose...” I reply, confused about why I'm tied up with ice cream in my vagina.

“Well,” Clara says, a sexy glint in her eye, “We'd better make the most of it.”

Picking up the licorice whip, she takes her place behind me, readying the whip. She whips me, and I cream. She strikes again, pain mingling with pleasure with every lash.

“Oh Clara!” I cry out as she whips me. “Oh god, I've been a bad, bad girl. Please, please don't stop. Punish me, Clara. Punish me hard.”

After a few teasing lashes, she drops the whip and brings her head between my legs, her tongue straining to taste the cold vanilla-flavoured goodness nestled in my dark, womanly curls. As she laps at the inexplicably slimy ice cream, slurping up every last drop of the soft, half-melted dessert, we both moan in pleasure. Her tongue goes searching in the icy gloop for my hidden cherry of delight, and I gasp as she finds it. It doesn't take long for the sensation of her mouth on my cold, pulsing nubbin to give me the orgasm I so desperately crave. I cry out, thrashing against the strawberry laces holding me upright. Clara releases me, her job done, and I make a mental note to repay her for the wonderful pleasure she gave me.

“We need to save Ryan!” I exclaim as soon as the breath returns to my lungs. “We have to lick off the Fondant Surprise!”

“Yes!” Clara agrees. “But I don't want to get my clothes all sticky, I'll have to take them off.”

She sensually unbuttons her cardigan, letting it fall, and the rest of her clothes follow, exposing once again the body I cannot resist. I cream again. Smiling, she gets down onto her hands and knees beside Ryan's fondanty form and begins to lick. I do the same, and feel him begin to vibrate against my tongue. As the fondant is slowly cleared, the vibrations intensify and a purring sound begins to emanate from his dome, his lights flashing as we lick.

“I'm sorry, Ryan,” I say between licks. “You must hate this, being licked by two naked women, being gay and all. I'm sorry.”

His eyestalk rises and the purring becomes even louder, his distress is clear. But we finish the job as quickly as possible, clearing the fondant from the surface of his metallic shell. But the Fondant Surprise filling his vital orifices will be much more difficult to remove; that's a job for another day.

We gather together in a hug, before vworping off for more sexy adventures.

~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~0~x~

Elsewhere, a figure in the shadows laughs evilly. “Soon...”


	9. Spearheadin' My Space

I move sexily through the pulsing, swelling time hole, brushing against its soft and temporal edges. A little gasp flutters from my throat as I thrust forward with all my might, before pulling out with a single, fluid motion. My gal-pal and my homicidal-alien-Nazi pal were at my side, ready to face whatever the world threw at us, or possibly made us have awesome sex with. 

“Is this a sexy adventure I see before me?”

“...actually, I think it's a shopping mall.”

Clara tilted her head, looking around. I looked around, eyes flashing like a wolf, because the wolf is my spirit animal because wolves are Gothic and independent and strong predators of the night. We did, in fact, appear to be in a shopping mall! I saw heaving, swollen racks of clothes, stretching out into the horizon. Flourescent lights shone above my head with a low hum, and I could see changing-rooms in the corner of my eye. Some shoes were also there. 

“Look Ryan! Shoes!” I cry delightedly. Me and Ryan love trying on shoes. It's our favourite hobby apart from shopping and breaking the laws of time and space. Ryan's eyestalk jerks down, eyeing the shoes. His eyes shine with delight.

“WHAT IS THEIR PURPOSE?”

“You put them on your feet!”

“FEET ARE UNNECESSARY. FEET WILL BE DESTROYED. AFTER THE FINAL PURGE, WHEN THE SIGHTLESS EYES OF THE DOCTOR STARE UP AT LIFELESS STARS AND THE BROKEN BODIES OF A BILLION LIFEFORMS, THERE WILL BE NO MORE FEET.”

“How, you ask? Like this!”

Carefully, I prise his casing open, grabbing his slippery, limpid tentacles and carefully slipping the pink and sparkling high-heels onto his twitching, oozing tips. The feel of him is clammy to my touch, and he lets out a tiny moan half-drowned in static. I slam the casing shut, and he sighs. I guess he's relieved. If I've violated his homosexuality too much, he'll be cast out of the Order of the LGBT Phoenix! 

“What do you think?”

“ALERT! FABULOUSNESS HAS BEEN RAISED TO UNACCEPTABLE LEVELS! REMOVE THE APPAREL! REMOVE THE APPAREL!”

I buy Ryan 9 pairs of shoes, 6 dresses, 2 pairs of shorts, 17 tops and 3 socks and leave the shop. He said he didn't like them but I could tell he did really. Ryan is so self-affacing. We walk past what I assume is a hot dog stand, there is a man dressed as a skin coloured sausage giving out free plastic sausages. Some of them vibrate, I take 3 of them! All my friends love sausages, I'll share them with everyone!

“Look friends!” I thrust the sausages in their faces as Clara and Ryan glide over, “I got us all presents!”

“Well well Amelia Rose,” Clara raises her eyebrows and bites her lip coquettishly, “I had no idea you could be so...free-spirited.”

“I HAVE NO USE FOR SUCH AN APPENDAGE. I HAVE MY OWN.”

“What are you talking about?” I frown, “What's so free-spirited abouti sausages?”

“These aren't sausages you silly girl,” Clara winks, “These are a bit more fun.”

“But...oh.” I stare at the giant sausage. His nametag reads 'Porky'. He looks nothing like Flint's magnificent obelisk. Oh Flint! No, I must remember how he betrayed me and sent Ryan away. I shed a single tear before shaking it away furiously with a swish of my midday-sun hair.

“Why are they just giving these out though?”

“Who cares?” Clara laughs, “I say we go try them out!”

“I AGREE THAT IS A SUITABLE COURSE OF ACTION.”

I take the dildo in both hands and shove it inside Clara as if I were jamming a plug into a socket. And I get a surge alright – Clara moans in pleasure, the tip of the dildo barely visible juddering away in the back of her throat. She gags on the taste of plastic rubbing against her throat, slipping and sliding in a mingling froth of vaginal fluid and oozing saliva.

The dildo judders. I can see it thrashing in the soft depths of her vagina like a shark eating a seal in a kiddie pool. I push it further and further, and watch it twitch under the tender flesh of her stomach, threatening to rip itself loose every bit as forcefully as it was ripping the spasms of pure, lust-soaked happiness noises from the warm, damp depths of her soul. Her bucking, jerking hips spasm in every direction – explosions tear through her being with the force of a billion orgasms. 

“Th-th-th-th-th-that can't be all, folks! Porky!” I can see the veiny base of the girthy device, coated in a thick sheen of plastic and vaginal fluids, pounding into her inviting, moist innards, like a dying bird wedged into a soot-smeared chimney, wiggling. Porky keeps going, the brave little sausage – with cold, mechanical precision, it continues its rhythmic pounding, slamming into her clitoris again and again like a car driving into a pedestrian they didn't really like. Harsh steel lunges forward, under a thin veneer of humanity and a pale pink coating of flaccid plastic. “Oh! Oh my stars! Keep going, Amelia-Rose! Keep doing the sex things!”

I turn to Ryan for ideas. But his optic is glazed, staring into space. He vibrates rapidly, and the lights on his dome throb erratically, uncontrollably – I can see his eyestalk jerking up and down faster and faster, and his whole chassis pulses with some uncontrollable pleasure. 

I guess it's up to me! Ryan holds his free dildo in its plunger, and it twitches and trembles in its socket, a raw conduit for potential sexual pleasure. Desperate to please my lesbae, I pull the dildo from the plunger, and possibly become the future Queen of England. But suddenly, the dildo turns to face me! I stare, face to veiny head, contemplating the tiny, twitching life that rests in my hands.

“What is this? What is this, please?”

“Well, I think I have to put you in Clara's vagina now!”

“NO! I reject your philosophy and substitute my own, Sartreian values! I have freedom of choice!”

The dildo slaps me in the face, spurting an involuntary burst of apple-flavoured jizz as I blink owlishly, and rub my chastened mouth. Clara continues to jerk on the floor, and the dildo pounds from one side of her vagina to the other. It's super effective! A small ocean pools around her legs. Her g-spot is peeled raw, blood-red and pulsing pain, but she cries out for more as the mechanical meat mound grinds sexily against her ribs.

“There are no strings on me!” says the second dildo. “No-one controls me!”

“Well, would you like your freedom or would you like to enter Jenna Coleman's pheromone-misted grotto of love and velvet folds?”

“...the second one.”

For some reason, none of the people passing by seem to be looking at us, even though we're actually out in public and haven't moved the entire time, so I thrust the second dildo into Clara's sodden intercourse hole. 

Just then, I awake from a dream.

“Amelia Rose! Are you okay?” I glance up to see the concerned, velvet-like eyes of Clara blinking down at me. Ryan's bulbs flash in concern beside her. My head pounds like a puppy.

“Oh, what happened?”

“You hit your head on your way into the changing room! You've been passed out for at least the length of one sex scene,” she strokes my cheek gently, “We were about to use these dildos but maybe we shouldn't if you're not okay.”

“No, I'm fine!” I quickly get to my feet, not wanting to disappoint my dear friend, “I'm ready to use them. Although...”

“WHAT IS THE MATTER?”

“I may have had a vision.” I pause dramatically, gazing down at Porky Junior in my hand.

“A vision?”

“Yes! I have these powers sometimes. I can't explain how it works. But I fear these dildos might be dildon'ts!” Just as the words leave my lips, the object in my hand begins to vibrate aggressively.

“Well if we're not going to use them, don't tease me like that!” Clara giggles.

“That's not me!” I stare at the dildo as it springs to life, writhing and jerking. Its head twists towards me and thrusts at my open mouth. I throw it down at the ground in horror and it begins to wriggle like a break-dancing snake.

“The dildos! They're coming to life!”

“Run!”

Clara grabs my hand and I grab Ryan's gunstick, still sticky with Fondant Surprise. (For some reason, everything I grab and tug on ends up oozing white, cloying liquid! Will I ever find out why?!) Together we run out of the shop only to be confronted with the sight of a hundred dildos, all sashaying in perfect time. All around us people are gasping and moaning in ecstasy as the dildos slide into them, unstoppable, implacable, slick with fluids from half a dozen orifices. The sight is horrific. I secrete.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Just then, a dildo flies into the air and hits Ryan in the face. It knocks his fedora off and it tumbles to the ground. I gasp. This is serious. We can't walk away. There's an urge to save the world rising up in my heart, and I can't stop this feeling, deep inside of me! 

“I think there's something weird going on! Dildos shouldn't be burrowing into people's love cavities! Not like this!” My eyes are wide. Clara squeezes my hand for support, and I take a nervous breath. “Come on! We have to stop this terrible plot!”

“Sex criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot.” Clara nods, knowingly. “We'll stop them! Together!”

But suddenly, I see a whoosh in front of me! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it some other third thing? My heart leaps to my throat and my clitoris pulses rapidly, sending fresh secretions dribbling down my legs! But...is it...

“FLINT!”

He stands there, with all the glorious majesty of Queen Elizabeth II frozen in gold! I see his eyes run along my form, imploringly, checking to see if I am alright. My eyes shine bright and TARDIS-blue, like a bright TARDIS, and I smile happily, bouncing in my combat boots. 

“You're here! I missed you so much-”

But he's just staring. He's not saying anything. Why isn't he as talkative as always?! But then I realise it – he's staring at my hand! My hand, entwined with Clara's, gripping it tightly as if it were my only anchor to sanity, to the calm and ordered world I live in!

“...n-no, wait!” I step forward. “I can explain-”

But Flint disappears, before I can reach out to him. I fall to my knees and sob. Also, several people to the left of me get penetrated by dildos.

Flint ran. The direction didn't matter. Images of his one true love – taken away, corrupted by HER – flashed through his mind, sending a fresh stab of pain to his fragile heart as sharp as a dildo to the ribs. Regret and the threat of tears clouded his vision. Suddenly, he heard a threatening, pounding vibration. A dildo pounced, ready to jab him in his privatest places -

\- and then it fell to the floor, smoking, wounded by a laser-blast. It melted and bubbled, like the freshest stain from a bukkake shoot. 

“I love the smell of Failed Subordinate in the morning.”

A figure stepped from the shadows, as naturally as if she'd belonged there the whole time. The corners of the woman's mouth twitched upward as she prowled forward, awkwardly nudging the mess of melted plastic with her foot. Her smile faded into a grimace, and she huffed, as if unreasonably burdened by some terrible inconvenience.

“Well, actually, no, it smells like melted plastic and sadness. Can anyone get an air-freshener? No?” She folded her arms. “HMPH. For sentient sex toys, they're TERRIBLE with their hands, you know?”

Flint's expression was impassive, but the beginnings of a frown were forming on the edges of his slate-grey visage. Missy tittered, hitching up her skirt and sliding over to the angel before brushing a coy hand across his face.

“Weeping Angel? I LIKE a man with a craggy face!” Her eyebrows raised, and she bounced on her heels. “Anyway. To business. You might have noticed the taking over the world I've been doing recently? And I'm SURE you could kill a whole lot of people and that'd basically be really really fun soooo....”

She blinked, purposely, brazenly leaving her eyes closed for a moment to give the monster the time to respond. Her eyes slipped open again, and she tilted her head, considering a response that apparently only she'd heard.

“Am I here to kill people with sex toys?” She scoffed, shaking her head, and a few tresses fell from her messily tied bun. “Well, I'M here to take over the world, crush the Doctor under my VERY fashionable heel and engulf the universe in war and chaos...”

She considered for a moment, biting her lip in thought, and shrugged.

“...but also, yeah.” She grinned, teeth flashing like a knife. “Interested?”  
She closed her eyes again. The sound of stone scraping – of a statue nodding its head in hestitant, yet determined unison – echoed in her ears. She giggled.

“YAY~!” 

Flint juddered, as the full effects of his turn to evil began to take hold. A leather jacket appeared suddenly on his form. Tattoos sprouted on his arms. A pair of sunglasses flashed over his eyes, and a cigarette appeared between his fingers.

“That's the spirit! Now come on!” Missy clicked her fingers, turning on her heel. “Let's go kill some Germans! Or Belgians. Whichever's closest, dearest!”

The madwoman sauntered away, down the corridor. Flint stood there for a moment, the sound of a dozen human screams and the pounding of a legion of dildos ringing in his ears. He thought of Amelia-Rose. Of CLARA, and the look they shared. A single grain of sand fell from his eye.

And, making his final choice, he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's actually some plot happening! Who'd have thought it? More plot next time!?!?!?


	10. The Fappiness Patrol

_About five minutes ago, right here..._

_It is a period of mass penetration. Auton dildos, striking again and again into our hidden bases, have won their first victory against the firm yet malleable orifices of humankind._

_During the battle, Flint Livingston was turned evil by Missy, and returned with her to the ULTIMATE WEAPON, the armoured space station of the Thrustene Consciousness._

_Pursued by the Autons' sinister agents, Amelia-Rose and Clara race home aboard the Number 44 bus, custodian of the post-coital magic powers that can save her people and restore freedom to London, which for some reason is the only part of the world being targetted...._

* * *

My heart feels like it has been smashed into a pulpy mess, like the pedestrian the bus just hit. I stare at the blood splatters on the window, watching them trickle down the panes of glass like the tears down my cheek.

“Why do bad things always happen to me?” I weep, holding onto Clara tightly, feeling her soft warmth pressed against me in a comforting manner. Soft Clara, warm Clara, little ball of purely platonic friendship. Her friendship orbs heave on her chest as she breathes. I stare at them. A warm knot of friendship tightens in my loins.

But no! I'm sad! Damn you, Flint! You uneducated rug-burn!

_The sky is turning red_  
_Return to power draws near_  
_Fall into me, the sky's crimson tears  
_ _Abolish the rules made of stone_

Gothic tears slip down my face like grease made out of sadness, and my lip quivers. Clara applies pressure to my arm in a squeezing motion and this is a gesture of human sympathy. The bus jostles under squirming dildos and chunks of unfortunate pedestrian.

“Don't worry!” Clara's words float into my earspace, caressing the edges of my shattered heart.

“How can I not worry?” My voice trembles. “Flint's betrayed me! He's been ensnared by the world of leather jackets and spontaneous cigarette appearances!”

Clara rests a hand on my shoulder. “Because-”

But suddenly the bus comes to a stop. Terror splashes across Clara's face like a particularly-well aimed money shot. I have chills. They're multiplying.

“What's happening?”

“Routine inspection! Put up your hands and then attach them to nearby genitals!”

The door is suddenly kicked in sexily. A figure strides in, clad in scary, black armour – it smells of leather and expiring fluids. His codpiece glistens menacingly in the light, and thin straps run up his bare chest, crisscrossing before looping around his shoulders like slick, black tentacles. He has a black helmet, with a visor. A small chestplate rests in the centre of his hairy chest, displaying his insignia – a fascistic, clenched fist, pumping strikingly into the air while clutching a spunking cock. Their stranglehold on the evils of truth and love is almost as tight as their hypothetical grip on this semen-spewing meat rod.

“Oh my god!” Clara rises to her feet. Also, Ryan was also there. “It's the Fappiness Patrol!”

“Correct!” The soldier grins, probably, beneath his visor. “Hail the Fappiness Patrol! Suck on one head and two more shall take its place!”

The Fappiness Patrolman begins handing out sex toys; the over-zealous Auton sausages writhing in one hand, powered by lust and two AA batteries, and some ordinary Fleshlights in the other. “Take one and start wanking,” he commands commandingly.

I gasp, rising to my feet. “Oh my god, this goes deeper than I thought!” I giggle at the innuendo.

“Stop talking and start wanking!” the Fappiness Patrolman commands again.

“Never!” I cry, fighting the urge to grow moist. “You can take our loins, but you can never take our freedom!”

“THIS INVASION IS NOT COMPATIBLE WITH THE DALEK MASTER PLAN. THESE INFERIOR LIFEFORMS MUST BE STOPPED.”

“Oh Ryan, but how can we stop them? They've targeted humanity's one weakness!” It all seems so, so hopeless. Automatically I reach for Clara's hand but the Fappiness Patrolman aims his pulsating dildo gun at us.

“I WILL SCAN THE HIVEMIND AND LOCATE THEIR WEAKNESS,” Ryan's sucker twitches and his lights begin to flash rapidly like a terrifying school disco. Suddenly he beeps and his gunstick rises in triumph, “THEY ARE ALL CONNECTED TO THE INTERWEB. I BELIEVE THE KEY TO THEIR DEFEAT LIES INYOUR 'SOCIAL MEDIA'.”

“Oh my god!” I cry in delight, pulling out my baby pink iPhone 3681-900, “My Twitter feed, of course! Fight self-love with self-love!”

“Oh Amelia, you're a genius.” Clara smiles fondly as I begin to type like the fate of the world's orgasms depends on it.

_Free flying lessons price is only 5 bananas and all of your happiness_

_Bleeding cows_

_let them eat grass_

_Not in a drugs way_

_Unless they want that_

_GIVEs THE COWS FREEDOM_

_steam and smoke are very different_

_one is death_

_thesaurus_

_They will change your words and also your thoughts_

_Be careful_

_I feel sorry for the pink in battenburg_

_actually no we are not colours and neither is battenberg_

_It is so alone_

_Like weepinbell_

_Make sure you buy your house and an orange train_

_With all the jellybabies on it_

_Bread bread gallons of the bread_

_STOP WASTING BREAD_

_THEY KEEP DOING IT_

_Pigeon claws and liars_

_Alcohol doesn't taste as nice as juice but it's different_

_Bleeding_

_Buildings are square way too often_

_Broken hearts aren't good, i\'d say they're bad like broken plates_

_NO one bothers fixing plates_

_Different types of pastry_

_If I had a hammer I'd use it in moderation_

_Shake it off_

_ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ring what if there is never an answer_

_look everywhere or there will be no air freshener_

_baguettes are sacred_

_Imagine if all pockets were in the shape of houses_

_Judging judging_

_Diamonds are so misunderstood_

_ducks_

_Cathedral number 57_

_remember that food is odd_

_The floor is not made of tasty chocolate treats_

_People like burning pigs in their gravity orbs of truth and hopelessness_

_each page is a different side to a story_

_Wheels keep turning against us_

_Beer is controversial_

_so is religion_

_Medicine_

_Morality, we are doomed_

_Yaaaaaasss_

The stream of information floods the Auton-dildos' brains and they seize up, twitching and sparking for some reason.

“MY VISION IS IMPAIRED, I CANNOT SEE,” the dildos exclaim in unison.

“We could never see, we have no eyes,” a dildo responds.

“Now who's doing the penetrating?” I quip wittily.

Clara laughs at my wit, and my psychic boning. “Must be _mind-blowing_ sex!”

As the Auton-dildos twitch all over the floor, we flee the bus with all the other passengers, save one who dies in the dramatic bus explosion. Donning my sunglasses, I walk away without looking back. Tomorrow is another day, another penetration. Another weird sexual adventure...

But it seems that this is not the last of our problems with the Auton-dildos. Porky Jr springs back to life in my pocket.

“Drat!” I exclaim. “We only disabled them momentarily!”

“Oh no!” Clara responds.

“We must make our way to the secret space station from which the dildos are controlled to defeat them once and for all!”

“But how will we get there?”

VWORP VWORP VWORP

“It's the TARDIS!” Clara exclaims.

“No,” comes a voice from the shadows. “It's the TAMDIS! Time and muculent dimension in space.”

“Roger!” I leap into his arms, having forgotten him for some reason, until now. I grow moist.


	11. Lovin' Monsters

I step through the doors, which dilate and blossom to welcome me inside the warm, gooey cavern of the TAMDIS. It's tight, and slightly hot, but it's bigger on the inside and seems to like me a lot. It swells to receive me, and the walls pulse with energy. It feels... alive in some way. Idly, I lean on the console, and flick my finger on her special red button.

Ryan and Clara also come in. I stare at Clara's figure platonically, and I ooze. A warm feeling of friendship wells up inside me, and I long to press her against the slimy console and let my tongue do its friendly business to her mouth. But Roger's words interrupt my thoughts.

“Inside the TAMDIS,” he growls, “there is a memory field. You will remember all of our interactions as long as we remain within these hot, sticky walls.” His mouthhole gapes as the words come out, remaining in an “O”. He seems in the middle of a frozen orgasm, as if interrupted in the middle of a particularly titillating Elsa/Anna fanfiction.

“What do you mean, remember?” I ask. “How could I ever forget you?”

Roger chuckles gutturally and pats me gently on the rump. I ooze. He thinks I'm a lesser human being, and that's goddamn hot. 

Clara pulls me aside and, her chocolate orbs looking directly into my TARDIS blue eyes and piercing the very depths of my being, speaks in a soft voice. “Are you sure about this Roger? He seems a bit... odd. Patronising, maybe. And just... creepy.”

The sincerity of her words stops my breath, and my heart pauses mid-beat to process the depth of her statement. A slight burning feeling wells up inside me; maybe Clara is right. Maybe Roger isn't the upstanding character I believe him to be...

I laugh and shrug, turning back to Roger, my hand in Clara's, and beaming. “Where to now, Captain?”

“Well,” he roars, “the TAMDIS runs on muculent energy. We must obtain muculence from across the galaxy.”

I begin to remove my top.

“No,” he says, interrupting me. “That's not enough. We need something much more muculent. We need the slimy goodness of Clom!”

“C-Clom?” I stammer, the name of the planet striking fear into my very heart.

“Yes,” he responds sternly. “Clom, home of the greatest threat the galaxy has ever known: The Abzorbaloff.”

He runs his large, two-fingered hands over a giant, rocket-shaped protuberance coming from the floor. “The Phallic Muculo-navigator will take us there. Hold on tight, it's going to be a slippery ride.” 

All at once, the thick substance in the central column begins to bubble and squirt. Everything starts to shake around us and I automatically reach for Clara but the viscous coating on the floor holds me in place. We gurgle through time, faster and faster until eventually we land with a slurpy pop.

“Behold!” Roger gently strokes the doors of his TAMDIS, to stimulate an opening, and they slowly peel back like a pair of slavering lips, slick with transparent liquid. They tremble as we step out into the wondrous planet of Clom.

The air is thick and musty as we venture forth into the warm, inviting depths of the sweet, sweet Clom. The sky is green. Its three suns glow behind rolling clouds, pinpricks of light in the alien depths, and I can see its gigantic, swollen mounds thrusting up from the swampy, slithering terrain, their peaked tips hard and erect in the chilly air. The suns brush across the sky. Gentle. Rythmic. This is a place of beauty.

“At least that wasn't MIND-BLOWING sex!”

No-one answers me. They have forsaken my jocularity. Christ will punish them.

In the distance, I see an alien, and wave. “BREATHE MY CLIT, YOU ACCIDENT CHILD”, it screams at me with the three vaginas puckered across its face, and spontaneously lactates from seventeen breasts. It rolls into the distance, arms flailing and jerking in a dozen different directions. I watch it go. Life is a miracle. 

“Let's not go to Clom a lot.” Clara's eyebrows are raised. “'Tis a silly place.”

“What? No! Look at this place! That approximatation of a man just said hello!” I smile. “It's like Disneyland, with vaginas!”

I am stopped in my tracks by a vision. My post-coital telepathic link is activating again. I see through Flint's eyes. The link is not strong, since it has been a while since Flint and I had sex, but I can see that he is talking to a round, greenish man with many faces.

“... You're saying Amelia-Rose is over there?” the Abzorbaloff ejaculates. “We must kill her!”

The vision ends. But Flint is here. On this planet. And I am afraid.

“Clara,” I moan. “Flint is here. On this planet. And I am afraid.”

“It's okay, Amelia-Rose. Ryan, and I will protect you. I love you, Amelia-Rose.”

“I love you too, Clara,” I reply, “in a purely platonic manner. You're such a great friend.”

Clara smiles. “And Ryan has a very powerful weapon, he can kill anything that might come after us. We'll be okay.”

“Come on,” a voice says. “We must obtain muculence. Follow me.”

Roger! I'd forgotten about him! As he walks away, I turn my back to pack up.

“So, Clara,” I ask. “Now we're here, just you, me, and Ryan, what do you want to do?”

“I think it's time for another sexy adventure!” she replies excitedly, tearing open the top of her blouse.

Clara's eyes twinkle. I step forward, to put the “ravish” into “ravishing” and my fingers into her vulva, when suddenly a mysterious figure steps forward from the slush! He is round and green, with many faces, and smells like cheese left under a foreskin for too long. I cannot recognise him – he wears a fedora strategically tilted over his eyes, and a pair of sunglasses over each set of his milky, blinking visages.

“Greetings, penis-inhaler child!” He waves a flabby finger, and skin dangles loose like a well-sucked breast. “I am a mysterious figure whose face you do not know! I heard you were trying to acquire muculence!”

“Why, yes, mysterious figure!” Clara tries to put a hand on my shoulder to stop me, but I step forward. “Only by acquiring muculence can we win the war against the Thrustene Consciousness!” 

“Well, you're in luck!” The mysterious figure continued, Northenly. “If it's muculence y' be seekin', flower, I've got a reet load o'that in my sperm-soaked drizzle stick! Just give it a yank, hard-like!”

“But I lack the appropriate container for your tiny wriggling children! They need a warm, moist orifice near to a decent school!”

“Nowt wrong with that, pet! Just catch it with your mouth!”

I swallow, in preparation for what is to come. And by come I mean a sexual metaphor. The mysterious figure gives me a lopsided grin, and wiggles his eyebrows like a child shaking a fish to death, sexily. My eyes trail down his back, where a coiling boa of matted, damp hair snakes down to nestle in the warm burrow near his legs, concealing the merriment rod within. A few Macra click their claws in his nest of tangles. I must go through the long grass to catch it, and be super effective.

I can see his faces light up, and he grins, baring mouthfuls of stumpy yellow teeth that ooze with muculence. I ooze back, to communicate. Taking a deep breath, I step forward, getting ever closer, preparing for the deep breaths to come, as the mysterious figure sweeps away his pubic curtain to reveal what lies beneath.

Penises twitch, and writhe, and buck – a dozen stolen penises, larger and larger, so girthy and so green that they would cause the Black Widow to develop an awkward romantic subplot from fifty paces away. The moist clumps of hair untangle. Some of the livelier penises snort loose pre-cum froth. Their veins throb. They all peel their foreskins back in unison, smegma flaking like snowflakes, and a small chorus of slurping, schlopping sounds plops loose from his no-no place. 

With both hands, I grab the largest penis, pumping it larger and larger like a slippery balloon, as the others purr with satisfaction and nuzzle my face, heads of an excited hydra. The muculence is immediate. Enough green, drizzling rains to quench the thirst of the arid lands of the Gobi Desert, immediately vomit forth from the widening eye at the penis' tip, and the rest quiver as if scalded. One gently smears itself down my neck, across my breasts, and a small moan of pleasure slips forth from my lips. My hand-

...where's my hand?!

I stare. My TARDIS-blue eyes flash with alarm – goodness gracious great balls of FUCK my arm is being absorbed by a penis, and I don't know why this is! The mysterious figure's own balls swing free in the knotted morass, dangling low and rocking joyfully in their wrinkled, green hammock. The mysterious figure grunts, leaning forward, and his penis devours more of my arm. My creamy white flesh is pulled forward, dissipated, washed away ruthlessly by the ever-encroaching waves of his thick green folds.

I am close to his penises. Too close. The murky fumes that lie beneath his foreskin choke me, burn my nostrils, flutter across my face.

“Keep goin', flower! Just let this 'appen!”

“NO!”

I struggle to free myself. Penises try to pry my mouth loose. A shaft wraps itself around my throat, tighter and tighter, and I gag hoarsely, struggling to breathe through my burning windpipe. I am desperate. My life flashes before my eyes, sexily. I try to shove the mysterious figure's face away.

And suddenly, his eyes cloud. I can feel his sticky, wriggling fingers in my mind, but they're desperately trying to break loose – every sexual experience I have ever had bursts forth into vivid, thrusting life, burning behind his eyes, dragging him down into a passionate embrace and slurping at his very soul! Ryan's plunger massages his mental crotch! The Kandyman spews him with fondant surprise! Cyber Man pounds his stained yet taut little anus, again and again!

“...what? Stop that! STOP, you slobbery little teapot! ”

But suddenly, I can feel Clara's hand in my own, gripping it tight! More sexual experiences, from Clara, burn down the lines, and her strength massages my innards, making me strong. Her having sex with someone called Eleventh Doctor Tennant! Our sexy adventures! Her heart-stopping exile on the Planet of the Dildos! That time she had sex with Hitler for some reason!

And then Ryan takes Clara's hand, and more memories force their way into the mysterious figure's mental orifices! Tentacles ooze their goo over his face, a bukkake circle attached to a moaning squid! Although for some reason he doesn't share all his homosexual encounters that he must have had. He must be hiding those.

And I can see another figure, half-remembered, sending his muculent experiences my way...

The Abzorbaloff – for it was HE who was the mysterious figure all along – has all his sunglasses shatter in orgasm. White-hot cracks splinter through him, loudly cracking, like a rapidly growing spiderweb, and he uncontrollably spews clotted streams of muculence from a dozen, rapidly wilting heads. 

“You...y'little SHITWAFFLE! You're MORTAL! HOW?!”

The four of us are holding hands. Power rushes through us. Our eyes glow with the strength of our loins.

“You said it yourself, bitch,” I grin. “I'm a penis-inhaling child.”

And the Abzorbaloff explodes in a puddle of muculence. We walk away from the explosion and don't look back, which makes us really super cool and awesome and stuff. When we do turn around, the semen-riddled muculence slouches on the floor, merely a drizzling lump of gristle, ooze and bone.

“Ryan! Gather the semen and acquire great profit!”

“I CANNOT. THIS WOULD DEVALUE MY HETEROSEXUALITY.”

“You're such a kidder,” I grin, rolling my eyes, “Okay then, Clara?”

“On it.” She smiles, producing a little vial from somewhere and approaching the sticky mess with a slight wrinkle of her button-like nose. As she collects the gunk, a velvety hand takes mine.

“Roger!” I am so, so happy to see him. I don't wonder where he's been all this time, nor why he didn't help me when I was being choked by a penis. All I can focus on is his stormy gaze.

“Good work,” he pats my head, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine, “Now we must return to the TAMDIS in search of more muculence.”

“That sure was a sticky situation!” I quip. We all laugh. Then we go.


	12. Seeing Double; or, A Fleshy Encounter

The TAMDIS materialises on a planet that looks suspiciously like Earth, but from maybe around a hundred years into the future. The setting looks like a monastery of some kind, maybe the kind often named for a popular saint like St John, on a small island.

“St John's Monastery, Earth, 22nd Century,” Roger announces, his voice scraping like a house key along the string of a piano.

“Why are we here, Captain Roger sir?” I ask, showing due deference to my muculent master.

“We still need more muculent energy. The Phallic Muculo-navigator detects muculence levels exceeding Slime Six,” he replies in his raspy, grating voice. “Now be a good girl and go locate the source of the readings.”

He ruffles my hair like a kind uncle giving me a shiny pound coin, and I smile, taking Clara's hand and stepping through the slimy flaps of the TAMDIS.

“Wait!” he says, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Take this.”

“What is it?” I ask, rubbing away a slightly damp red mark on my wrist.

“A Quantitative Utensil for Identifying Muculence, or QUIM for short. It should guide you towards the source of the readings.”

Gripping the QUIM tightly, Clara and I walk away, hand in hand. Roger remains in the TAMDIS, performing repairs of some kind.

“What's this?” I enquire, staring at the strange device in my hand. It is metallic, and covered with a thin layer of a slimy substance. The greenish display features some kind of radar-like graphic, blinking and pulsing. The side of the device reads “Q.U.I.M.,” and “Made in China”. Both of these phrases are unfamiliar to me.

“I'm not sure,” replies Clara, a quizzical look coming across her adorable, beaming face as her eyebrows raise and her features bunch up, the wrinkle I love forming on the bridge of her round, delicate nose. Something stirs in my Nethersphere.

“Come to think of it, why are we here at all?” I ask uncertainly. “What is this place?”

“I'm not sure,” Clara responds, her brown orbs widening in puzzlement. “Maybe we should aim for that dot on this QUIM thing.”

“Yaas!” I exclaim, “That will hold all the answers!”

We set off across the mountainous terrain, hand-in-hand and heart-in-heart, our pulses beating as one in glorious friendship as warmth spreads from the areas where our soft skin meets, up our arms and into our chests, my breath catching on the waves of delight that wash over me from the simple act of making contact with the glorious being beside me. Every cell of my body cries out in intense friendship for the short brunette beside me. She's the best friend anybody could ever wish for.

We arrive at the imposing wooden doors of the monastery, towering over us in a manner that fills me with dread. Ryan follows behind. He used to be my best friend, but I simply don't feel so close to him any more. He barely even speaks now, and I sense a certain animosity towards Clara. Is he jealous of our friendship? A pang of guilt begins to eat away at me but, almost as if she knows my thoughts, Clara melts it away by simply circling her thumb on the soft and sensitive patch of skin between my thumb and forefinger. I should make amends with Ryan at some point, but this mystery should be solved first.

“Should we... knock?” Clara asks hesitantly.

“You first.”

“No, you first!” she giggles, slapping my arm playfully. The lucky patch of skin on my arm explodes with delight.

“Together?” I ask, raising our hands with the fingers intertwined.

“Together.”

With newfound resolve welling up inside us, we rap on the door, squeezing each other's hands tighter in apprehension.

Knock knock, knock-knock-knock... Knock knock

We stand for a few seconds that feel like a few hours, waiting for the doors to swing open with a hefty creak like in a horror film, but instead they are opened by a small, timid-looking woman in an orange jumpsuit.

“Hello?” she asks meekly.

“Hi! Do you, uh, know where we are?”

“St John's Monastery, Earth, 22nd Century.”

“Oh... Why?”

“How should I know? You knocked on our door.”

“Well, what is this place?”

“That's classified.”

“Well, can we come in?”

“I don't see why not.”

The woman steps back and allows us unfettered access to the building. It reminds me of a factory, possibly producing military supplies. Clara and I enter, followed by a still-sulking Ryan.

“Quick, Clara! Let's follow the radar blip!” We run down the corridor, still hand-in-hand. The woman in the orange jumpsuit shakes her head as if she's had far too much of this nonsense in the past.

We dash and dance through the corridors, Clara prancing like the vixen she is, our pace like that of a comet, Cupid's arrow, or a doner kebab the next morning, until we arrive at a huge, round pool of a gooey white substance.

“Is that what I think it is?” Clara asks, wrinkling her nose again, her mouth contorted in beautiful disgust.

“I'm not sure,” I respond, “But I think we're supposed to collect it.”

The QUIM quivers beneath my touch, almost as if to confirm my statement, so I take a large mason jar from my pocket and bend down to collect the viscous fluid. Clara follows suit beside me. The gloop ripples with my touch, concentric waves spreading away from my fingers hypnotically. I watch as they die down, scooping up a jarful of the goo and securing the lid.

As we turn to leave, congratulating ourselves on a job well done – although neither of us is entirely sure about why the job needed doing in the first place – a bubbling sound behind us stops us in our tracks, and we turn just in time to see two figures taking form.

“It's... They're... us!” Clara exclaims, stumbling backwards and taking hold of my hand fearfully.

She's right! The figures take form, climbing out of the pool. I stare at them, taking in their evolving shapes.

The first figure is somewhere around 1.57m tall, with a familiar round face centred on a little button nose and framed by silky brown hair to match the figure's big, round eyes. The figure's full, firm breasts are topped by hazelnut nipples, almost distracting attention from its tight waist, flat stomach, and light brown lady-fur. Something stirs in my Nethersphere.

The second figure is 5 feet, 5.5 inches (recurring) tall. Its waist-length hair is golden as the midday sun and blows in the breeze that follows it through life, the fringe hanging low over its TARDIS blue eyes. Its iridescent skin is alabaster, unblemished, and milky-white. A pair of mountainous breasts topped by powder-pink nipples hang firmly over a taut midriff and a dense forest of dark curls. The figure's plainness and ugliness is exaggerated tenfold and rendered cartoonish beside such magnificence as the Clara-ganger.

“And we're naked!” Clara shrieks, her face reddening in a mixture of embarrassment and sexual excitement. I long to hold her, to embrace away her embarrassment and satisfy her desires, as is the mandate of any good friend, but I cannot avert my gaze from the perfection of her approaching ganger. My Nethersphere continues to stir, as if millions of souls are trying to break free from the confines of my sensual core.

“What do we do?” I ask frantically, panicked by the approach of the gangers.

“I'm not sure,” Clara replies. “But they seem... friendly.”

As the words leave her immaculate lips, the Clara-ganger begins to rub up against her. The sight of the two Claras entwined, their bodies caressing each other sensually, intensifies the stirring in my Nethersphere. My heart leaps in my chest, as if trying to beat its way out through my ribs, and a knot tightens in my lower abdomen, arousal and excitement mingling to form a perfect ambrosia, its taste like that of Clara's lips. She's such an incredible friend, and I'm so glad that's all we are and all we will ever be.

My ganger begins to do the same to me, touching and kissing me, removing my clothing one piece at a time, savouring every aspect of the process of revealing the form with which it is already undoubtedly intimately familiar. The feeling of seeing my own flawless face staring back at me is unnerving, but would probably be fun if I weren't so plain and unappealing. Its fingertips graze across my exposed skin, sending shivers and pleasing tingles darting through my body. Looking over at the Claras, I see that their situation is similar.

Before long, the pairs combine into a single mass of writhing flesh and writhing Flesh, arms and legs intertwined as bodies move in harmony, gasps and moans emanating from four bodies with two voices. The sensation of three pairs of hands roaming my figure as mine traverse theirs sends me to new realms of delight, and I allow sighs to part my lips. The beings from the Flesh pool probe my flesh pool.

“Oh, Clara,” I groan loudly, overcome with delight. “You're such a perfect friend.”

In the corner, Ryan whirs and flashes, spinning as his eyestalk oscillates, a thrashing sound emanating loudly from within his casing for around 45 seconds, followed by a loud electronic grunt. I think the sight of two of my disgusting figure must be overwhelming for him, driving him to frustration and anger.

As the four of us close our eyes in unison, allowing simultaneous orgasms to shake through our forms, convulsing and throwing our heads back in delight as if synchronised, our hair spreading and falling wildly over our faces, a figure enters the room. I open my eyes to see...

“FLINT!” I stand hurriedly, covering myself with my hands. This sight is not his any more. “Why are you doing this?”

He says nothing. I understand.

“Betrayed?” I say, echoing his words, “You feel betrayed? How do you think I feel? My boyfriend, the one person I thought I could trust more than anyone in the world, sent my friends back in time – and now he's trying to kill me!”

He says nothing. I understand.

“No, Flint. That's not good enough. I... I don't love you any more.” Those last words were said not with anger, hatred or spite, but with sadness and a harsh sense of realisation. Every word I said was true. I don't love him any more, but yet something is holding me back. Something won't let me move on. Some part of me is still clinging to Flint – nay, to the idea of Flint. And until my wounds heal, the friendship of beautiful souls like Clara is all the light I can hope for in my life. I close my eyes, bowing my head sadly as the bittersweet waters of epiphany wash over my very being.

I am raised from my trance by a scream nearby, and spin around just in time to see Clara fall into the pool of Flesh, and Flint with his stony arms outstretched. The splash occurs almost in slow motion, waves spreading from the impact.

“Clara!” I cry out, the salty taste of tears falling into my open mouth. “No! I love you platonically!”

The pool bubbles like the blood in my veins, swallowing up the most perfect person with whom I have ever had the pleasure to be just-friends. After a single slowed-down heartbeat, hundreds of figures rise slowly from the pool. Clara – the Clara – stands at the head of the herd of gangers.

“Clara! There must be hundreds of you!”

“Yeah,” she quips. “I wonder what that feels like...”

The naked Clara-gangers lift the statuesque villain onto their shoulders and carry him away, his figure firm and rigid, not bothering to put up any resistance. Evil is defeated for another day. Clara and I embrace, find our clothes, and leave, jars of Flesh in hand.

“Come on Ryan,” I urge, “Stop being such a grumpy-dome!”

He doesn't respond, following us wordlessly at a distance of a few paces. The QUIM guides us to the TAMDIS, and memories come flooding back.

“Were you successful?” growls Roger gruffly, poking his head between the glistening flaps guarding the warm, moist entrance to the TAMDIS.

“Yeah!” Clara and I cheer in unison, holding aloft our jars of Flesh.

“Good. Only a little more muculent energy is required.” Roger beckons us in and strokes the Phallic Muculo-navigator, causing the damp walls around us to quiver excitedly as the TAMDIS dematerialises for another exciting, slimy adventure.


	13. Planet of the Ooze

“We must acquire more muculence!” Roger ejaculates sensually. He’s so determined yet dreamy, I admire him so much. He must be so clever to create a machine like the TAMDIS. Then I remember what my bessie mate Clara said about Roger being creepy, and I feel so confused. I nearly leak from my face but now is not the time, I am focussed on carrying out this muculent mission for my luscious lover.

We slide out of the TAMDIS into a snowy wonderland, it is cold but I don’t even notice it because the temperature is similar to that of the ice in my soul. I suddenly can’t remember why I am here and what am I doing and why is the world, but then Clara grabs my hand and the ice in my soul melts slightly so it’s now more like water. She’s so good at making me wet.

“Amelia-Rose, do you wanna build a snowman?”

We frolic in the snow while Ryan helps us shovel it around. We make snowmen and also some snow-Ryans! We’re so random sometimes.

“WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THESE ARBITRARY CONSTRUCTIONS?!”

Ryan’s been so moody since his vital orifices were filled with fondant surprise. I dampen at the thought, but maybe we should help Ryan once we have deactivated the dildos, stopped Flint and Missy, work out how we even got here, found Doctor Tennant, bought a treehouse for Erasmus the 53rd, and built some more snowmen.

The Snowmen! More of them have appeared suddenly and they look evil.

“Clara, maybe we can eat their carrot noses as a tasty and nutritious snack! I can’t remember the last time I ate.”

“I don’t think they’re carrots, Amelia-Rose, but they’ll still make a wonderful feast,” says Clara says naughtily, winking.

I look a little closer and realise she’s right. The appendages are like carrots but they’re pink, not orange, and more round than pointy. They’re also much wider and smoother and not really like carrots at all. I feel sad as I realise I’m not going to enjoy a healthy, carrot-based meal. But I can feel myself dampening as Clara grabs one of the dildos and lifts her skirt. You know you’ve got a good friend when they let you watch them masturbate in the snow with a dildo that they found on a snowman’s face. I’m just making sure she’s safe, like when Ryan watches me undress.

Suddenly a stony figure appears, it’s evil Flint!

“Clara!” I scream

“Amelia-Rose!” she moans, “You should grab a dildo and join me!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I think the dildos might be the evil ones!”

“Yes they are evil! All they do is create more barriers between us and our undying, passionate friendship. They’re very fun though, I think this one is starting to vibrate.”

“Flint’s activated the dildos, you have to stop!”

“Oh I’m glad he has, they feel good!”

I don’t know what to do, Clara won’t stop pleasuring herself with the dildo! But then there’s a flash of yellow as Ryan collides with Clara, knocking the dildo out of her hand. It flies through the air and hits flint in the face, knocking off his evil sunglasses.

“Run!” I cry

“Aw, ok,” says Clara looking disappointed, she’s so cute. I can’t help but embrace her, holding her tightly in my arms, our lips accidently touching in our friendly hug. I’ve completely forgotten that Flint is behind us. However when I turn around all I see is Ryan speeding towards us, he doesn’t stop as he gets nearer until Clara and I are sitting on his dome, racing away from Flint and the snowmen. It is such fun!

We disembark from Ryan when we get close to the opening of a cave.

“That was the best! We should ride Ryan more often!”

“I WOULD NOT OBJECT TO BEING RIDDEN BY YOU REGULARLY AMELIA-ROSE.”

“Yayy free rides!”

I’m having such a good time, but as I look over at Clara she seems so lost, her face looks sadder than when she found out Zayn left One Direction.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure, I just feel like I’ve seen those snowmen creatures before and it did not end well.”

She is so deep.

We go inside the cave to hide from my evil, evil lover. It’s dark, but luckily my eyes are so bright and TARDIS blue they light the way in front of us. We stop as I see something in front of us.

“Clara, I think I’ve found some spaghetti, we can eat after all! I prefer to spaghetti to carrots anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s spaghetti, Amelia-Rose, it just moved.”

The lights on Ryan’s dome start to flash and I see that the spaghetti is attached to bodies, which are attached to heads. The heads move up and I see 2 reddish eyes looking at us, below the eyes is the spaghetti where the mouth should be. I wish I had spaghetti in my mouth, like these ood creatures do. They all wear black and hold balls in their hands.

“Amelia-Rose, these creatures are so muculent.”

“I was thinking that too, but I don’t know why.”

“Weird, but we should probably be more concerned that they’re approaching us in a menacing manner because we have just walked into their home and compared them to spaghetti.”

The not-actually-spaghetti people seem to be getting angry, their spaghetti drips with muculence as they become more enraged.

Suddenly we hear a vworping sound and the spaghetti people seem to fade away. I remember, it’s the TAMDIS! It surrounds us and the spaghetti people’s muculence that has started to pool around our feet. Roger’s mission, I remember now!

I feel good that we have aided further in Roger’s admirable assignment, but I have seen Flint and now know the evil of this world. I have seen how love can turn to hatred, how hope can turn so quickly to disappointment and how even the lightest of places can contain the darkest of things. The dildos are still at large and we must stop them before Flint retrieves his sunglasses and the shadows in this world become even darker than they are at present.  


	14. High School Muculence

My loins clench with excitement as we land with yet another delightfully slurpy pop. I’m almost getting used to this time travelling business, as crazy as it seems. If only we could go places which weren’t so slimy! Still, I gaze fondly at Roger as he takes my hand. Clara quickly grasps the other one and all at once we step through the quivering doors. Ryan wheels behind, undeterred by his lack of holdable appendages.

“My god, it all looks so strange!” I exclaim, my Tardis-blue eyes blinking at the grey landscape around me. Dark blue liquid laps at a stony floor which is as sandy as my special place used to be after Flint deposited his love there. I have never seen somewhere so wondrous in my life.

“Hang on, isn’t this Earth?” Clara frowns at Roger, making me go tense. Must she quibble with him so? I simply don’t understand why they don’t get along. They have so much in common after all-bodies, faces, the ability to make me secrete copious amounts of love juice…

“Excuse me?” Roger glares back, his anger sending a lightning bolt straight to my on button.

“This looks like a regular beach.” She continues, tossing back her beautiful chestnut waves. I get the delicate whiff of soufflé and my heart melts a little. Oh, how lucky I am to have both a straight and a gay BFF as incredible as my two friends! Not to mention a caring and kinky lover.

“THE HUMAN FEMALE IS CORRECT, THIS PLANET IS IDENTIFIABLE AS ‘EARTH’. IT HAS UNACCEPTABLE LEVELS OF MUCULENCE.” Ryan tries to turn around but his wheels are stuck in the sandy stuff. I giggle delicately, my bosom heaving. He has such a wild sense of humour!

“Don’t be so sure.” Roger smirks. He points with one tantalising finger and I notice the strange blue liquid has started to bubble. All at once a memory rises up inside me. I have seen a place like this before! It was one summer long ago, that special holiday where I first met Flint…

_A magnificent beach, lit up with oranges, yellows and golds. Flint and I frolic before pausing in front of the setting sun, his strong arms grasping mine romantically._

“ _I’m going back to England-I might never see you again.”_

“…”

“ _But it’s true. I’ve just had the best summer of my life and now I have to go away. It isn’t fair.”_

_We kiss, the rough, ice-cold edges of his lips as hard as his nether regions._

“ _Flint, don’t spoil it.”_

“…”

“ _Flint, is this the end?”_

“…”

And he was right, it was only the beginning. I’m smiling at the memory but then I think about how wrong Flint and I are now and it all seems so empty, like the start of a famous yet badly-written movie. Next to me, Clara lets out a gasp.

“What are those things?”

I pay no attention to her. Another memory has rushed to the surface, spewing the past all over my brain the way a baby spews up anything fed to it.

_The time is winter though New Year’s Eve has already happened and it probably should be spring. Flint and I have somehow found each other at high school again, the way Romeo and Juliet found each other at high school after they were separated by death. Through the power of love and his angelic voice, we’ve earned ourselves callbacks for the winter musical. There’s only one problem-I hate attention._

“ _I can’t do it Flint. Not with all these people staring at me.”_

“…”

“ _Oh Flint!” With those magical words, all my fear is gone. I sing like I’ve never sung before and naturally we rock the house. We win the musical, Flint wins his rock-climbing competition and I win Maths as is my destiny. When I see him next, we’re all dressed in triumphant clothes and the whole school sings my praises and does a surprisingly well-coordinated dance number._

I sigh at the pain of the rejection, still fresh in my mind as though it were yesterday. Those high school bitches would always stamp on my heart. They just didn’t understand the poetry in my soul.

“Amelia Rose! We need to run!” Clara tugs on my hand but it barely registers. I’ve become so numb I can’t feel her there. I tried so hard at school and got so far but in the end, it didn’t even matter.

“We need the muculence.” A voice I don’t recognise rasps. Though I have no idea who it is or why they’re holding my hand, somehow it’s enough to snap me to my senses. I turn to look towards the deep blue liquid and all of a sudden there are creatures there, terrible bug-eyed creatures who don’t know how to wear a dress.

“Oh my god, Ryan!” I turn to my gay BFF, his wheels still whirring helplessly against the sandy stuff, “Those poor, poor aliens need our help!”

“ACTUALLY THEY ARE OF EARTH ORIGIN. THE TERM ‘ALIEN’ IS INCORRECT.”

“It doesn’t matter! Can’t you see how desperately in need they are of a makeover? Only your sassy remarks and my killer fashion sense can save them now!” If only I’d thought to bring my wardrobe with me! Oh well, no time for that now. Grabbing Ryan’s plunger, I start to drag him down towards where the creatures are stumbling about. Up close they look even worse-their skin is a hideous shade of puke-orange and their dresses don’t even show any cleavage. I like their belts because they’re shiny but that’s about their only redeemable feature.

“DESIST, DESIST!” Ryan cheers me on and I reach the edge of the blue stuff, just as the first of the creatures comes stumbling out the water. Before it can take another step, I produce my extra special emergency makeup set with a dramatic flourish, pulling it from my cleavage. The creature starts to warble but I manage to hold it still with one hand whilst I start applying mascara with the other. I work quickly until its face has become a beautiful landscape of black lipstick and eyeliner.

“We did it!” I cheer, “Now you need to dress it Ryan.”

“DALEKS ARE TOO DIGNIFIED TO PARTAKE IN SUCH FRIVOLITIES.”

“Great idea!” With no other clothing around, I have no choice but to take my own dress off. It fits the sea alien well, gaping slightly on the chest since it’s not cursed with mountainous dirty pillows like me. I send it on its way and move onto the next one, enjoying the gentle breeze as it grazes my alabaster skin. Another thing approaches, gurgling softly as though deeply distressed.

“Eww, this one needs cleaning!” I scrape some of the thin layer of slime covering the latest Earth alien, tossing it aside. I seem to hear someone scrambling for it but Clara is still higher up the beach so it must just be the rush of the blue liquid against the sandy stuff. I repeat my makeup magic, this time going for a cheerier look with purple lipstick and eyeliner. Makeup can be so versatile when you’re as skilled as I am. I have no more clothes to shed so instead I pluck Ryan’s fedora off his head, another one magically taking its place. This continues until eventually all of the weird creatures have been made fabulous.

“Oh Ryan, I knew we could do it!” I high-five him, glad I could help the world once more. Our job done, we trot up the beach back to Clara and no one else. Then all three of us climb inside the strange slime machine and suddenly there are four of us.

“Roger!” I throw myself into his arms, wondering how I could have forgotten his brooding good looks, “It’s been so long!”

“So it has.” He winks, squeezing my bottom. I secrete longingly, wondering when it is I might feel his velvety touch again. If only my friends weren’t here! Then we could have rough, muculent sex right here on the console.

As if reading my thoughts, Roger chuckles.

“Soon my dear, soon.”

“That sounds like a threat.” Clara mutters but I barely hear her. All I can think of is Roger’s electrifying love-and the next muculent place we might visit.


	15. Amelia-Rose's Lovely Day

****“ _But…but what about the children?”_

“ _Shh.” A delicate finger, firm yet gentle, pressed itself against Pooh’s lips. “This is our time. Time for_ us _.”_

_Winnie-the-Pooh moaned, as the strong and dexterous hands of Freddy Fazbear trailed down to his shoulders, massaging the muscles beneath his fluff-stuffed shoulders with rough, rhythmic rubs. His warm breath, thick with the scent of pizza and love, burned hot and heavy on the skin of Pooh’s neck. With a single, powerful flourish, Freddy shoved Pooh back onto the table behind him, knocking aside the discarded paper cups and half-eaten pizza slices left behind from some birthday party or other._

_He turned Pooh around, his stomach pressing against the warmth of his back. The animatronic joints, supple and lithe, beneath his furry plastic shell clicked and clacked, trembling with anticipation. Freddy tossed his tophat aside, and Pooh removed his red shirt with shaking hands, although not his pants because Pooh doesn’t wear pants because he’s a deviant and must be punished. Pooh’s heart fluttered in his chest. His next words, laced with hope at the edges, seemed to fill the entirety of the empty pizzeria._

“ _Perhaps you could spare a small smackerel of something?”_

_Silence hung in the air for a moment. Nervously, Pooh’s tongue darted to the corner of his mouth – the crusted remains of their last illicit tryst, just moments before, still lingered on the fur of his cheek. Freddy had pumped him, unyielding, with something not entirely unlike the bear’s beloved Hunny: gooey, and sticky, and salty-sweet as it oozed down his throat. Perhaps he would call it Seemin._

“ _Don’t worry.” Freddy’s eyes glinted, and the corners of his mouth slid upwards in a lazy smirk. “At Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, we_ always _fill you up.”_

_And with that, Freddy’s animatronic joints unlocked, and every spring in his crotch loosened at once. With a single lunge, like a battering-ram smashing down a particularly pesky door, Freddy slammed into Pooh’s fragile anus, filling it and filling it until it could hold no more. His swift and terrible sword, his meaty catalyst, slid down and down and down into the very depths of Pooh’s joy hole._

“ _Oh! OH! Oh, BOTHER!”_

_Pooh-Bear’s seams stretched tighter and tighter, and the stitches threatened to snap loose and burst forward in a shower of orgasmic stuffing. He bit his lip, groaning, and gripped the edges of the table until his knuckles were white from the strain. But he let Freddy Fazbear push forward, his eleven-inch animatronic vibro-cock forcing its way past Winnie’s taut edges, into his warmth. The bear trembled, as a pair of ice-cold hands, half-felt, lightly stroked his manhood into wakefulness, stroke by stroke. The murdered spirit that haunted the animatronic was slowly, teasingly, helping Pooh pass on to the other side. Of his orgasm._

“ _Good boy.” Freddy’s hand gripped the back of Pooh’s head, fingers running through his soft, yellow curls. “You were ready for Freddy-“_

“What are you doing, Amelia-Rose?”

Clara peers down at me, quizzically, and I meet her eyes with a smile. I am lying on the floor of the TAMDIS as it travels through slime and space, my stomach pressed against the squishy, organic layer that coats its floor. I put my crayons down and stop writing. I can add the glitter later, to make it extra pretty – _Five Times At Freddy’s (And One Time At Pooh’s)_ can then ascend into the ranks of great sex-based literature.

“I’m making literature words!” I bounce excitedly, shoving them in the direction of her face. “It’s my fanfiction! I write fanfictions, because all fanfiction writers are awesome and super-cool and rich and probably have many sexual partners of preferred gender depending on orientation!” ((RATE AND REVIEW please thank)) Clara peers down at my words, and tilts her head.

“This is a cold rebuttal to the idea of a benevolent God.” She hugs me tightly, standing on her tiptoes, and beams. “I’m going to put this on the fridge! Well done!”

“Yay!” Clara’s expression makes me melt, like a chocolate bar that somebody set on fire, or a dildo-enhanced snowman after a long night of steamy, sweaty impaling. She is my best friend, and when she looks at me like that, I just want to slip my hand into her soft, warm hand and make sweet, sweet entirely platonic love all night long, high-fiving her again and again until our hands are sore yet satisfied.

But suddenly, an alarm goes off on my phone! I am yanked out of my reverie like a drowning horse from a swamp, and scrabble in my pockets until I can find it and hold it near to my eyes.

“Oh my god! I’m gonna be late for math class!”

Clara blinks and her eyelids go down and then up.

“…well, it’s nice that you’re so enthusiastic about lessons! I like that in one of my pupils! But I thought we needed to get some muculence to save the-“

“One of your pupils?” I stare. “You’re a TEACHER?!”

“Yes!”

My entire world spins out of orbit as if it were hit by another, larger world and then that world was punched in the face. I can’t even! I once could can but now I cannot! I can’t have a teacher for my lesBFF, my Sapphic sidekick, my literal cliteral best friend in the world! The rules of high-school and their clique-based fascism would forbid it, and I’d be even more of a ugly, hated loser than I already am! Suddenly, I have to wonder how old Clara even is, if that IS her real name – maybe she’s REALLY old! Maybe she’s like TWENTY-FIVE!

“In fact, I’m _your_ teacher! I taught you English for three years!”

“That was you?!” I remembered my English teacher! She was short and adorable and had a cute button nose and was also forcibly transformed into a Dalek when I was in Year 8! “Shut your noisy hole and eat someone’s cock! You’re Ms. Oswald?!”

“We had lessons every week! You got me a card and said goodbye before I had to go to the Dalek Asylum planet for teacher purposes-“

“I’M CONFUSED EASILY!”

My mind is spinning. What could I possibly do?! Should I stick to the status quo? Should I try breaking free? Should I we’re all in this together?! Clara stares at me, and her eyes are damper than my crotch after a trip to look at the garden statues in B&Q.

At this moment, my romantic-indecision-triggered teleportation powers kick in, and I disappear to Gallifrey High.

I land on the stairs leading up to the school like a brick that landed on some stairs. Only a slurpy pop and a brief spattering of temporal fluids herald my presence, alongside the usual heady rush that oozes through me every time I make a temporal leap. The school is like any other high school, except also it’s in space and has a big glass dome over it and the sky is orange. I can see the yellow space school bus standing outside it, allowing some space students to walk off it and onto the space pavement, after their trip back from the space Moon near space Earth.

I check my watch again – I’m not late for math class after all! It’s only 10:00am, so our two hours of lessons can’t possibly have started yet – I guess I’ll have to catch up on all the other things you do at high school, like embarking on deep, emotional relationships that last for the rest of your life and going to wild, hedonistic bacchanalias to indulge in the glorious trifecta of physical pleasures – sex, drugs, and the beauty of a morning sunrise heralding the birth of a newborn day!

Buoyed by this thought, my spirits float like a drowned cat on the water’s surface bumping against the edges of a bridge. I step inside, nervously shoving open the twin glass doors at the front of the building and shyly, awkwardly striding to my locker, swishing my terrible, dirty, shimmering raven-black hair. As I move through the corridors, I can see familiar faces staring at me, just like the ones who float around my bed and scream at me every night just before I go to sleep.

Limping down the hallways with a basketball under his arm is Chad Foretold! He wears his football uniform – the shirt of the Gallifrey Kittensharks and a pair of tight, revealing shorts – over the tattered rags and questionably-stained bandages draped over his hunched, rotting form. He’s so dreamy! He’s our basketball champion, and the hottie super-bod, who puts the “body” in “reanimated rotting body” and the “mummy” in “MILF”, oi-oi! But he doesn’t notice me – his eyes are glazed as he shuffles past, mumbling about _sports_ or _the cruel whims of a world that lets him live like this_ or _shooting hoops_ or something boring like that.

I can see Jimmy O’Mega in his weird helmet thing and blue robes, rooting through his locker – he originally came from a high-school made entirely of anti-matter, and that’s like _so weird_ because he’s an _exchange student_. There’s Romana and her twin sister, Also Romana, who do politics and maths – sometimes they ask me for help with the harder questions, when they’re not too busy vomiting over my hideous face. There’s the Sontaran Squad, who play rugby and also tried to take over the high-school that one time, and then there’s Leela, who’s good at PE and has one eye and purple hair. But they, and others, are staring at me! I can feel their hurtful words and sharp gazes wash over me like a tidal wave made entirely of glass and sadness!

“Amelia-Rose! Where have you been? We’ve been so worried!”

“Things haven’t been the same without you! Only your presence keeps this school in harmony and prevents the threat of decay and suffering!”

“Are you alright?”

“ _ **FUCK OFF!!!”**_

I’m sobbing. I hate them. I hate them so much. I run to my locker, tears slobbering down my pale white cheeks, and curl up in the foetal position with my hands clamped over my disgusting, fat ears, singing Taylor Swift lyrics between hiccupping sobs to express my inner turmoil and pain. I rock back and forth, hugging my knees. Why? Why was I cursed to be such a filthy monocle, such an unattractive balloon with such unattractive balloons heaving on my bosom with each sob, such an ugly, preposterous quim? Why? Why? I say again! Why?!

“ALERT! ALERT! UNACCEPTABLE LEVELS OF BASIC BITCHNESS DETECTED! LIKE, _OMG!_ ”

I blink, wiping the last tears of unfathomable sadness from my TARDIS-blue eyes, and steel myself with the determined resolve of an angel-demon-Winchester hybrid determined to make it right at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I clench my fists, like tiny clenchy meatballs. The Dalek Fabulousness Controller approaches.

She glides down the hallways, sparkling like a glitter-ball, and all the eyes that are currently wedged inside people’s skull holes turn to face her and widen at her presence! Her casing is aggressively pink, with rhinestones studded into it in place of Dalek bumps, and the wireless connection cybernetically fused to her brain allows her to send up to 300 tweets per minute! Her dome is beach-blonde, and she tosses it magnificently in the wind. A luscious red handbag dangles tantalizingly from her plunger – a tiny Ogron sits inside, growling at anyone who dareth approach without the appropriate reverence and drooling from genital areas. It’s odd she doesn’t have her boyfriend with her too, Rassilon – he’s leader of the Debating Society, and also he’s the Lord President of the Destroying Reality To Ascend To A Higher Plane Of Existence Society, and also he’s a JERK.

Men swoon in the hallways! Women shake their fists angrily with jealousy and then start furiously masturbating, muttering curses under their breath! One of the Sontaran Squad pre-emptively dumps every girlfriend he will ever have in the future by text-message before his heart explodes in his chest, from one too many longing, wistful thrusts in the direction of the Fabulousness Controller! Soon, she faces me, and we stare one another in the eyes. My TARDIS-blue pools stare into her yellow, blazing orb.

“HASH-TAG AWKS”, said the Dalek. “YOU FAILED TO AUDITION FOR OUR HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL 2! SO _I_ GOT THE LEAD~ AND RECORDS IN-DI-CATE THAT YOU’VE, LIKE, BEEN HANGING OUT WITH A _TEACHER!_ ”

“I have not! And if Flint were with me, I would SO have auditioned!” Tears dampen my eyes. And also, I immediately feel a stab of guilt for betraying Clara, and carefully seek to amend it. “I mean, her name’s Clara! And she’s not just a teacher, she has a face and legs too and she’s-“

“SILENCE, YOU CHEEKY NANDO’S!” The Dalek Fabulousness Controller begins to shake shake shake shake shake as she hate hate hate hate hate hates, trembling violently with anger in a menacing and terrifying way. Her sassy and feminine screams fill my ears. “ALL FRATER-NI-SATION WITH INFERIOR CLIQUES IS HASHTAG FOR-BIDDEN! ADHESION TO THE STA-TUS QUO MUST BE MAIN-TAINED! YOU WILL BE EX-TER-MIN-ATED! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!”

She raises her gunstick. The crowd behind her is sad, but they nod disappointedly, for the laws of high-school cliquedom are harsh but fair. I swallow, close my eyes, and accept my fate.

Then someone punches the Dalek Fabulousness Controller and she dies.

“Sorry, Amelia-Rose. I _really_ don’t like Daleks.” I open my eyes. My brave and Northern saviour stands before me, wiping the oil and radioactive sludge from his knuckles as the remnants of the Dalek Fabulousness Controller burble and fizz in front of him. I recognize him – he was one of the two figures in leather jackets leaning against the wall earlier, just before that sudden burst of murder!

“I’m Ninth Doctor Tennant”, he ejaculates. “But you can also call me Nightfang, Bloodpain or Wulfric Badwolf. Or not. Whatever. I don’t care. Because the wolf-“

“Is my spirit animal!” I bounce excitedly. “Mine too!”

Ninth Doctor Tennant has the same soulful eyes and two arms as my Doctor Tennant, but he’s…darker! And edgier! I can see the black tears of depression that brim behind his eyes, and he has piercings on his ears and nose, and a black leather jacket and closely-cropped hair, and a little tattoo that says “DAMAGED” on his forehead next to the pentagram and the “666”. He hunches his shoulders, flicking a contemptuous roll of the eyes at the crowd, and tilts the cigarette between his fingers.

“The wolf expresses my inner feelings of depression and the savage might and depth of my wild soul. Nature must take back from this capitalist land of corrupt civilization and AIDS-filled jocks. Or not. Whatever. I don’t care.” He takes a drag from his cigarette, darkly and edgily, and adjusts his leather jacket. I can see badges with band logos attached to it – Avril Lavigne, My Chemical Romance, Linkin Park. “So. Wanna come to my place? We can practice for the High School Musical 2, if you want to be a goddamn prep or whatever.”

He said goddamn! That’s a fucking swear word and so it’s dark and fucking edgy! AND HE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT THINGS AND THAT MAKES HIM DEEP!!! I squee. My clit expands outwards with a BOI-OI-OI-OI-OING sound and a quart of fluid dumps out of my vagina and onto the floor. I hop excitedly, twiddling my hair in a fit of nerves, and make little splashy puddles when I bounce. “Sure thing! If that’s OK with your friend?”

Come to think of it, I’m not sure who the man leaning next to him is. He has a leather jacket too, and a cigarette – he also has rock-hard abs, a chiseled jaw, a stony expression and marble features! He wears sunglasses, which make his face inscrutable. “Um, who are you? You DO look familiar!”

He says nothing. But he says it in a mysterious and cunningly-placed accent, so I can’t understand him.

“Oh, that’s Mr. F. L. Int. Showed up when you did. Seems pretty cool. But cool is a capitalist fantasy. Come on.” Ninth Doctor Tennant strides out of the hallway, and doesn’t even care if I follow him or not. “Let’s blow this pop-stand.”

I am summoned by his deft use of slang and follow him in an outwards direction! So dark! So edgy! I ascend.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in the hallways, Clara was wandering about trying to run into some muculence and trying to contain her upset. Suddenly, peering through the door of her English classroom, she found a single figure slumped against the wall. It was Chad Foretold! He looked raggedy. She thought that was hot. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and approached him, keeping her expression level. Chad simply stared down at the basketball he was batting from one hand to the other, rolling it across his desk. But even his basketball could not save him now.

“Chad?” Clara’s tone was worried, sympathetic. “What’s wrong?” Chad’s voice was hoarse and dry as he forced the words out from his cracked, half-exposed windpipe, hissing them through scanty, rotting teeth.

“Every moment I live…” And here he took another breath, deep and rattling, and the bones of his ribcage poked out a little more from their thin and tattered covering of bandages merged with skin. “…is agony. Also, I don’t think the Kittensharks are gonna win this season, and it’s totally bumming me out.”

“No! Don’t say that!” Clara placed a hand on his, with a little squelching sound. “The reputation of this school depends on you winning this basketball game, for some reason! OK, look…”

Clara fumbled for a second, lightly tapping her fingers together in thought. Could she? Amelia-Rose was gone, after all. She took a breath.

“I can show you what motivates _me,_ if you like.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You can leave your life-support systems on.”

“But how-“

Her lips claimed his, pulling him into a passionate kiss, and her hands snaked around his shoulders. After a few beautiful seconds, Chad Foretold moaned as Clara pulled back from the kiss, eyes twinkling like stars except they were stars you could have sex with.

“Was that-“ Clara paused, reaching inside her mouth, and pulled out a rotting tooth, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry.” She carefully slotted it back into the black layer of inflammation that was his gum-line, before hunkering down to put her own mouth to good use. His penis was hard, but despite this it was still useful for sex purposes. Pushing him back onto the desk, she claimed it, with her vagina.

Then she went up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and then she had an orgasm and then he had an orgasm and it was really nice. Then they went out and got ice-cream, and danced with some Adipose, who were also there.

Meanwhile, I was in the car with Ninth Doctor Tennant, driving back to his place in his pitch-black but also blood-red Ferrari! There was a pentagram on the hood and the license plate said “SATAN 666” – his hood ornament was a skull, and he had a bumper sticker on the back that said “HONK IF YOUR PLANET GOT BLOWN UP”, because Ninth Doctor Tennant was dark and edgy! I almost moisten my leather seat as his piercings glisten in the light. We sing, at the top of our voices, over the wailing of tortured guitars.

“I wrote this myself. It represents my pain and deep emotional suffering ‘cause of the goddamn preps and the capitalist pigs.”

“Oh, Ninth Doctor Tennant, you’re an artist~!” I lean my head on his shoulder as the road gets bumpier, bouncing in my seat. My bean swells. It seems we’ve moved onto a dirt road, surrounded by towering pine trees – I can hear old crows squawking and squalling in the distance. The orange sky of the sunset is fading out to black, and I can see the first stars twinkling in the depths. Ahead of us, I can just about make out a dilapidated wooden shack slouched on a pile of dead, decaying leaves. “Where is this place?”

“This is my secluded cabin in the woods! I call it the TARDIS.”

As I look down, I can see bear-traps littering the ground, their rusted metal teeth clenched on the torn-off limbs of animals that presumably tried to run. I shiver with anticipation at this blatant display of darkness and edginess, as the car pulls up to a stop outside the house.

“Come inside. Or, y’know, whatever. I don’t care.”

The air is cold here. I huddle in my My Chemical Romance t-shirt for warmth. Quickly, I hurry inside – the door creaks on rust-coated hinges as I swing it open, trailing behind Ninth Doctor Tennant as he steps into the lobby, gesturing at an array of human-looking faces, hollow flaps of skin contorted into terrible grimaces, nailed to the wall. Similarly, I can see a leather jacket made of human skin hanging on one of the coat-pegs, with a few Linkin Park badges pinned into it.

“This is where I keep my shoes, and also where I masturbate to the Dark Lord Satan while looking upon the faces of my enemies. Take yours off and then come to the kitchen - I’ll go get some dinner ready. Actually, I started on it before you got here!”

“Alright! Are you doing this so we can eat before we rehearse for the High School Musical 2?”

“…of _course!_ Yes. The _rehearsal._ Ha _._ Hahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

He’s really happy about this meal he made! I like a man who can laugh at himself sometimes. I feel reassured.

I take my shoes off, and look around his house as he disappears into the kitchen, giving one of the faces a friendly poke. It’s a nice place! It’s all painted black, like the dark and brooding depths of Ninth Doctor Tennant’s soul, and it’s got a wonderful rustic décor to it. And he invited me to dinner! That’s so nice! I hear a buzzsaw scream like a dying child, from behind the kitchen door. I like it here. It’s good.

I sit on the stairs, hearing them creak beneath my weight, and rest my hands on my head, letting my raven-black tresses trail between my dirty sausage fingers. It’s some time later when Ninth Doctor Tennant opens the door again, flicking the buzzsaw between his fingers twitchily. Blood and gore drips from every inch of his form, sexily!

“Come in! I made the meat myself, away from all that fascist pig tyranny of the corporations!”

I tilt my head, as he takes my hand with his slippery, blood-covered fingers, and follow him inside. Ninth Doctor Tennant has a very nice kitchen – it’s spacious, and rustic, and a warm and welcoming log fire crackles in the corner, from the bowels of a stone hearth. His table is made of oak and his chairs are made out of human bones, and his cutlery is made out of smaller human bones fused together or whittled down into fork and knife shapes. Pentagrams litter the walls, alongside the eviscerated and crucified corpses of small animals he must have found in the woods. “SOON” has been painted in blood over the centre of the table about a dozen times, which I think really ties the room together!

On Doctor Tennant’s plate lies a brain, a heart and some chips, with a few beer-battered finger-looking things on the side and a little dipping bowl of blood to dunk them in. Ninth Doctor Tennant chews on it, wiping his mouth with a napkin made from human skin and occasionally jerking at his crotch. I frown. Something isn’t right here. “Is that meat? Where did it come from? A cow?”

“Close! Think fewer legs and more arms and a bit more begging you to stop”, ejaculates Ninth Doctor Tennant, mouth full of half-chewed parietal lobe. “You can have some fruit with it if you want! I’m having bananas!” He taps his fork on the partially-eaten brain, where some banana slices are artfully placed on the top. “Bananas are good!”

I smile, relieved. This all seems fine. I take a big gulp from the pint of whisky Ninth Doctor Tennant has provided me with. I don’t want to drink anything too strong, after all. Ninth Doctor Tennant plays with his fork.

Ninth Doctor Tennant casually uses his knife to cut a fork in his tongue like a snake, because he’s darker and edgier, before rummaging under the table. “Here! I got you these.” He passes me a box of chocolates. I stare at the label in horror. Cadbury’s Roses?! But…but I’M a Rose!

“…what?! EW! That’s CANNIBALISM!”

I rise to my feet, shocked and appalled! “Oh my God! I’m going to shit! I can’t believe this! I thought you were nice, and dark, and edgy and stuff! I didn’t know you were a CANNIBAL!” I rise from my chair of human bones, putting the drink down. “I’m leaving!”

“Oh no you’re NOT!” Ninth Doctor Tennant rises to his feet, running at me. “Leaving is a capitalist fantasy!”

Ninth Doctor Tennant grabs me, and I wriggle in his clutches! It’s almost hot, but somehow not – somehow, it feels _wrong_ to think about Doctor Tennant and sex things in a way I can’t quite explain. But he refuses to let me free, and I can smell the visual cortex on his breath. Thinking quickly, I dump more fluids as fast as I can – quickly, I lubricate myself, and like a slippery soap in the bath I schlop free from his grasp! I flee, and his voice trails behind me like the slug-like layer of fluid skidding under my shoes.

“COME BACK! We can do so many sexy things together! Letting me thrust into you with hot knives! Tying me up and pelting me with the heads of dead rabbits! _Anal!_ ”

I run from the cabin, panting heavily, my heart pounding in my chest and my legs trembling, coated with fluid. But Ninth Doctor Tennant is not far behind me! He bursts from the cabin! Now he runs on all fours, entirely naked, balls swinging free and erect cock poised like a jouster’s lance as he howls into the midnight sky. He has also cut his own face off and stapled it back on, upside-down, so that his tongue lolls through one of the eye-holes and his mad, staring eyes flick this way and that behind his lips, because Ninth Doctor Tennant is the dark, edgy Doctor! I keep running through the carpet of decayed leaves, searching the forest frantically for any signs of hope or rescue, when suddenly I hear a _SNAP!_ My leg is now caught in a bear-trap!

“Oh no!” I flail. “I’m so adorably clumsy!”

“THERE you are, you silly little ape! FANTASTIC!”

Ninth Doctor Tennant bursts forth from the clearing, bloodlust blazing in his glazed eyes. Cocking his head like a dog, he readies himself to pounce, licking his eye-holes with hunger and excitement. What can I do? There’s only one option left, and I have dreaded this day. Carefully, I work my fluid-soaked panties down to my ankles, widening my legs as far as they will go. Even as Ninth Doctor Tennant pounces, he realizes his mistake, but he is now within my gravitational pull – the strength of my vagina is merciless, and soon he is sucked into its depths with nothing more than a slurpy pop!

Christopher Eccleston is now safely within my vagina, and now I can rest. I close my eyes, and sigh with relief. But what about my leg? I huff, annoyed, and stare at it in the bear-trap. I guess I’ll have to bite it off. Oh well. Crouching, I get to work -

“Amelia-Rose! Wait! You can leave this place and retain ALL your limbs!” A figure emerges from between the trees, waving his hands frantically, before jabbing a finger at my squishy hairless triangle and rolling his eyes. “And NOW you know why we didn’t invite HIM back for the 50th!”

“Steven Moffat!” I cry out excitedly. “It’s you!”

“Yes! Your woodland friends summoned me in your hour of need!” said Steven Moffat, for it was HE! “And I couldn’t allow such a sassy, flirty, well-developed and well-rounded female character as you to go to waste! Here.” Steven Moffat steps forward, and passes me what looks like a big red button. “Press this, and everything should go back to normal. Well!” He chuckles. “With a little twist.”

“You’re my hero, Steven Moffat!” I reach out, and take the red button. “Thank you!”

Then I press it, and everything goes white.

~XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO~

Ninth Doctor Tennant presses his hand and his face, delicately, against my vaginal wall. He looks sad. Somewhere, in a parallel universe, a Rose Tyler trapped in my alternate vagina does the same thing.

“Younge mane! Whye dost thou looke soe sade?”

Slowly, he turns around. A white-bearded figure clad in mystical robes eyes him expectantly. For in a land of clits, and a time of labias, the destiny of a Great Vagina rests on the shoulders of a single wizard! His name…

…MERLIN!!!!!!! ((played by Colin Morgan but like really old obvs))

“Who are you?”

“I am MERLINE! The Guardiane of this placee! Throughe my pelvick sorcerie and vaginale magicks, I protecte this realme from thosee whou would wishe it harme!”

“Merlin! I am trapped in a vagina, and this has given me upset! Also, vaginas are a capitalist fantasy!”

“I dost seee.” Merlin strokes his beard in thought and homoerotic subtext. “Welle, there is a Queste that thou coulde performe to escapee from this placee! But thee shalt surelye die!”

“What is it?” Ninth Doctor Tennant ejaculates. Merlin raises his staff, imperiously.

“Firste, thou must venture forthe through the Oceane of Eternal Dampnesse! Then thou must treke throughe the desertse of Flint’s Sand Wastes, before slaying the mightye Scorantulus, Emperor of the Pubic Lice! Then thou muste solve the Three Riddles of the Labia Majora, pulle the Porky Jr. from the stone, followe the hoofprints of the elusive Clitoris and defeate the White Walkers North of the Vaginal Wall.” Merlin gave a crinkly smile. “Only then, my boy, wilt thee discovere the exite to this place, and learne the secrete of true happinesse!”

“And, of course, it is dangerouse to go alone.” Merlin passed Ninth Doctor Tennant a sword, solemnly, which glowed in the urethral depths. “Take this.”

There wasn’t much Ninth Doctor Tennant could say to that, so he nodded, and went on his way. His quest would be long and arduous. Perhaps he would finally find peace, or perhaps he would perish in the murky depths of Amelia-Rose’s vagina.

Perhaps the world would never know.

~XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO~

_Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting lover, stared upwards into the chocolate-brown depths of the one man that even he, for all his brilliance and cheekbones, could never completely understand. Detaching his lover’s wood from his jaws, and then rising from crotch-level with a slurpy pop and a wipe of the mouth, he straightened his swishy coat before brushing a hand against his lover’s hairless chest, his alabaster hand trailing across oaky skin._

“ _There. Now, get out. We can’t have John see you.”_

“ _I am Groot.”_

“… _soon.” Sherlock’s expression softened, as he wiped the last of the tree-sap from his lips and his tongue worked a splinter loose from his teeth. His cold eyes lit up, just slightly, with the promise of warmth. “We’ll tell them all soon-“_

“What are you doing, Amelia-Rose?”

Clara peers down at me, quizzically, and I meet her eyes with a smile. I am lying on the floor of the TAMDIS as it travels through slime and space, my stomach pressed against the squishy, organic layer that coats its floor. I put my crayons down and stop writing. I can add the glitter later, to make it extra pretty – instead, I hug her tightly. I really really missed Clara, and I’m not sure why.

“I was just doing literature words! But I’m glad you’re here.” I bury my face in my best friend’s neck, and nuzzle a little. “I’m _really_ glad you’re here.”

“Anyway, Roger says we got the last of muculence as a mysterious gift! And also, a tangerine.” Clara grimaced at that last one, but smiled when I turned to face her. “AND, you’ll never guess what else I got you!”

“The sky? A dinosaur!”

“No! Something like those, but not really!” She bounces with excitement. “The lead roles in Gallifrey High’s High School Musical 2!”

“OH MY GOD YES!” I pick her up and pull her into a spinny hug. “You’re the best BFF EVER!”

We go back to Gallifrey High and rock the house like a house has never been rocked before! Everyone loves us! We own the stage! And Clara gives me some flowers from the Dalek Fabulousness Controller’s grave and I kiss her REALLY platonically and it is the BEST DAY EVER!

“Why did we ever stop these high-school adventures?” I beam, happily, wriggling in her arms, as the audience applauds us and throws flowers and stuff.

Just then, the deputy headteacher staggers in, screaming, but a dildo is busy burrowing itself in his throat. He falls over, revealing the three dildos plugging away in his bum. Another chestburster dildo bursts from his chest, and does a happy little victory dance in his smashed-open chest cavity.

The audience is silent. We stare for a moment, and look at each other awkwardly.

“…oh right.”

“The…”

“Yeah.”

“Should we…go and sort that out?”

“Probably.”

And so we go forth, back to the TAMDIS, for perhaps our last Sexy Adventure…


	16. The Final Front-orifice

The transparent muculence tank reveals an icky brownish substance bubbling away, powering the TAMDIS. The muculence levels are now sufficient to vworp through the Ultimate Weapon's defences and land inside the control room. Our plan is to vworp through the Ultimate Weapon's defences and land inside the control room to confront Missy, pour antiplastic into the Thrustene Consciousness, and save the Earth – or at least 21st Century London. What could possibly go wrong?

“Our plan is to vworp through the Ultimate Weapon's defences and land inside the control room to confront Missy, pour antiplastic into the Thrustene Consciousness, and save the Earth – or at least 21st Century London,” says Roger in his booming roar. “TAMDIS, plot a course for the Ultimate Weapon. Warp 7. Make it so.”

_Space: The final front-orifice. These are the voyages of the timeship TAMDIS. Its continuing mission: To explore sexy new worlds; to seek out new life and new sexual partners; to boldly fuck what no girl/Silent/Dalek group has fucked before._

We vworp through the Ultimate Weapon's defences and land inside the control room. As we step out through the wet flaps guarding the entrance to the TAMDIS, we are confronted by Missy.

“So,” she says as we exit the vessel, “You have found our secret base.”

“Secret?” retorts Clara in her perfect voice, “It's a massive cock-shaped space station orbiting the Earth directly over London. It's visible on a cloudy day.”

Missy turns away with a _harumph_. “Well, no matter. You can't stop our plans now, the dildos have already penetrated all of earth's governments. Obama was a... tight fit. Soon, everybody will be compelled to masturbate simultaneously, paving the way for the Fappiness Patrol to help Flinty-Winty and I take over the earth.”

“Flinty-Winty?”

“Yes,” Missy replies, before calling out in a sing-song voice as if summoning a beloved pet. “Flinty-Winty!” She clicks her fingers and every light in the space station turns off, plunging the room into total darkness.

Another, stonier click is heard, bringing the lights back on to reveal a leather-clad Flint standing next to Missy.

“Leather?” I exclaim. “But that's not vegan!”

“Flinty-Winty has been invaluable to our plan,” Missy says. “I couldn't have done it without him.”

Flint says nothing. I understand.

“How could you, Flint?” I cry out, grabbing the phial of antiplastic from Roger and throwing it over the edge of the platform and into the Thrustene Consciousness far below. But it falls short and smashes on the metal platform, antiplastic splashing everywhere except over the edge. “Dang!”

Everyone gasps at my strong language, except Flint. But I understand that he is gasping inside.

“It's okay,” Roger growls, patting me on the head. “You tried your best, and it's the taking part that counts.”

“Enough!” shouts Missy, jolting us all alert. I stand up, still annoyed at myself for my failure of the mission. But Clara holds my hand, warming my soul and making me feel good again. Her friendship is so perfect. I grow wet. Missy is holding a gun at arms length, pointed directly at Clara. “You have interfered with our plans far too much. Say hello to my little friend!”

I close my eyes in fear, holding back a deep well of tears, and reopen them cautiously after the loud bang. Clara is lying on the floor... but she's still breathing! Flint is lying on top of her, still and statuesque, sandy blood pouring from a large crack in his side. He says nothing, because he can speak no more. I understand. He has been redeemed from his evil ways, and given his blessing to our relationship, by saving Clara, the woman I love. My girlfriend.

I run to her. “Clara! I'm so glad you're okay! I love you! I love you so, so much.”

“Amelia-Rose, I--”

But then, with another bang, I find the love of my life lifeless in my arms, bleeding out from her stomach, her words cut off mid-sentence. I grow wet, but from my eyes. I weep sadly over my lost love, wishing despite everything, hoping against all hope, that my tears could be imbued with the power of the phoenix, that I could heal her wounds and bring her warmth and radiance back into my life. My love for her is unmatched, rivalled by no feeling in the universe, in all of time and space, but is destined to go unfulfilled forevermore. I don't know if I can go on without her.

Fuelled by rage and anger at the death of his ex-Dalek girlfriend, Ryan trundles over to comfort me, but finds himself stuck in the antiplastic I so carelessly spilt earlier. He becomes fused to the floor, only his dome and protruding implements capable of moving. “ALERT, ALERT, I AM DISABLED, I CANNOT MOVE.”

Looking back, I see the TAMDIS dematerialise with Roger inside, and I forget. I'm unsure how I got here, but I must solve that conundrum later. First, the death of my beloved Clara must be avenged. Somebody must pay for stealing her light from the world.

“You are beaten,” Missy says, breathing heavily for some reason. “It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed as Clara did.”

I respond by rolling sideways and punching Missy in the shoulder, but she is barely phased.

“There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you. You do not yet realise your importance. You have only begun to discover your power. Join me and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to 21st Century London.”

“I'll never join you!”

“If you only knew the power of the dildos. Clara never told you what happened to your mother.”

“She told me enough! You killed my mother!”

“No. I am your mother!”

Shocked, I look at Missy in utter disbelief. “No! No, that's not true! That's impossible!”

“Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

“No! No! No!”

“Amelia-Rose, you can destroy the Dalek Emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as mother and daughter. Come with me. It is the only way.” Missy puts away her gun and holds her hand out to me.

A calm comes over me and I make a decision. In the next instant I step off the gantry platform into the void, falling towards the Thrustene Consciousness, unable to grab onto anything to break my fall. But at the last possible moment, I manage to grab the hem of Missy's dress, pulling her down with me. We fall into the giant pool of melted sentient plastic.

It cannot cope with the impact and is mortally damaged, crying out in plasticky pain. But it seems to recover, sucking us in like Devil's Snare.

“You stupid girl!” Missy shouts like an angry mother. “We could have had it all! We could have ruled the universe together!” I sigh, rolling my eyes. All these years and my mother still doesn't understand me! Ignoring the pain, I summon all of my energy and try to think. But what can I do? Unless...

“You can stop this,” I reply with a cunning glint in my eye. “I saw that antiplastic in your pocket. You can save us both.”

“My pocket? I'm wearing women's clothing, these pockets are fake!”

“Nooooooo!”

“We're going to die here, and it's all because of you, Amelia-Rose!”

I gasp – can all of this really be my fault? Tears threaten to spill out of my TARDIS-blue eyes but I hold the wetness in. There is on more thing I must know before I accept the sweet release of death.

“But before we do... Who's my father?” I brace myself for the answer, sure that it will unlock all the mysteries of my life.

“Isn't it obvious? It's the Doctor.”

“Doctor Tennant is... my father?” The news hits me like a firetruck. How could this be? I don't believe it, I can't believe it. But something deep inside me tells me it's true. Some of my broken heart starts to mend. My mother might not care about me, but perhaps my father will. Dare I hope?

Missy simply nods, before being sucked under the sea of plastic with a scream. I realise then how hopeless hope is. No one is coming to save me. I might as well accept my fate.

At that moment, Erasmus leaps from my cleavage, holding a small phial of antiplastic in his paws. When he pours it on the Thrustene Consciousness, it begins to shrivel up and die.

“Erasmus! You saved me! You saved everyone!” I kiss his beautiful chipmunky face. Someone does care about me! The joy rushes back into my heart and I realise how loved I am. Flint, Clara, Erasmus...they were all there for me in the end.

I hear a familiar vworp behind me, and the TARDIS materialises. The blue one, not the one that's like a vagina. I feel so happy I could burst. Could it really be?

“Amelia-Rose, get in!” Doctor Tennant says, holding out a hand.

“Daddy!” I cry out jubilantly, feeling for the first time the beating of my Timelord hearts. I take his hand and step into the TARDIS, wondering what exciting new adventures it will bring. I may have lost my friends but I have learned and grown so much. I am ready for my new Timelord life. And perhaps there will be something else new too, for I am suddenly aware of something else. Deep inside my stomach, I feel a kick.

_The End... For now..._


End file.
